After the End
by kumar LaVoixDuSud
Summary: The books finished and left most of us with unfulfilled hopes and desires. Will the heroes be together again? Will Eragon and Arya share a long life? Will Murtagh return to Nasuada? Will Saphira and Firnnen fly together in the wide skies of Alagaësia? What about Thorn? Will he ever find the proper one to mate? Let's try to fix Inheritance laughing, or at least smiling! E/A, M/N.
1. Good Morning Alagaësia!

**After the End. Parody.**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, let alone the Writer.

* * *

**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community.**

* * *

**1. Good Morning Alagaësia!**

A beautiful summer day had dawned on Alagaësia. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun shone over the earth and the weather was pleasantly warm. Blooming flowers had just opened their petals, while buzzing bees and colourful butterflies were crazily flying above the dew drops and the anthers bursting with polen. Little birds were already happily chirping in the scented air, when, on the bare slope of a hill, Murtagh woke up.

The Rider yawned and stretched, to relax his cramped muscles. He quietly walked up to the edge of the nearby cliff, examining contentedly the beauty of nature, when a thick puff of smoke obscured the clear day and caused him to cough his lungs out.

_'Thorn!'_ the irritated Rider scolded his Dragon. _'Another one like this and you will make me feel like a passive smoker.' _

Since the previous day, when they had firstly arrived, the Dragon had settled down on top of the hill, and now he was criticaly watching a flock of sheep, grazing in the meadow at the foothills.

_'Oops, sorry, Rider'_ said the Dragon regretfully. _'Seeing the sheep down there, I was lured by the thought of tasting one or two, maybe half a dozen of them.' _

Murtagh turned towards the top of the hill, facing his Dragon and touching the hilt of Zar'roc with his fingers.

_'Most definitely you are not!'_ the Rider stated angrily. '_This flock belongs to the Dwarfs, and you are very well aware of their enmity against me. As if it were not enough that I've killed their late King, if you start eating their flocks now, who knows where this could lead.'_

Thorn puffed another small amount of smoke out of his nostrils.

_'This wouldn't have stopped me, but for their thick wool, which will stick between my teeth. But … wait a minute … if…'_ his sharp eye shone insidiously for a moment, causing a shiver down the Rider's spine. _'Yes! What a splendid, what a tremendously marvellous, what a wonderfully and fantastically good idea!' _added the Dragon, and saying this, he unfolded his enormous wings, and with a menacing movement, swooped like an arrow towards the flock, before Murtagh could do a thing to stop him. In less than five minutes two fat, wooly sheep were lying killed in front of the legs of the Rider.

_'What do you mean, I have to skin them for you?'_ Murtagh crossed his hands on his chest, irritation starting to stir inside him.

_'So that the wool wont stick between my teeth …'_

_'You do not care about my enmity with the Dwarves!' _Murtagh exploded._ 'Is this the importance you give to your Rider?' _

_'I am your Dragon! You're supposed to take care of me! And not just your Dragon, but your hungry one, as well'_ Thorn stated seriously. _'Now, if you would be kind enough to skin …'_

_'No! once and for all, no, no and no!'_ Murtagh kicked angrily the dirt and rocks under his boots. _'I will not interfere in this! I've told you that these sheep belong to the Dwarves!' _

_'Hrothgar belonged to the Dwarves too'_ Thorn complained, totally displeased.

The Rider raised his hands in despair.

_'Nobody will ever understand!' _

_'You have never explained it to me!'_ Thorn tried to justify his actions. _'Why did you do it Murtagh? The King never commanded you to do such a thing. He was surprised to learn of it.'_

_'Why. Did. I. Do. It!' _the Rider accentuated the words one by one._ 'How am I supposed to know?' _he exploded, his anger taking control of him._ 'I wasn't even there when the decision was taken Thorn; and I was not responsible for my actions back then, as I had practically missed almost a whole book.' _The Rider ran his fingers through his hair. His voice took a malicious tone._ 'It was the Writer who had decided for me to do it, so, the blame is not on me. __He__ should be called Kingkiller, not I. After all, he left me with so many memory lapses, I do not even remember what happened for months.'_

_'You should not speak like this of the Writer' _Thorn started saying, '_unless you want an encounter with …'_

Tremendous thunder was heard and a strong voice echoed, not just inside both their minds, but in every soul around to hear, causing the flock of the sheep to start running as fast as they could.

_'…him again.'_

_'You! Ungrateful creature! Have you turned against your Creator again?' _

_'Too late!'_ Thorn commented.

This was not the first time the Supreme Being had made his appearance. A few months earlier, during one of his Rider's tantrums and torrent of curses, this voice had appeared, menacing, threatening, and had scared both of them to death. The late King Galbatorix's presence was nothing compared to this. And his angers seemed like sweet, dripping syrup in a cup of lemon tea. Thorn perched on the hilltop and covered his head with his long wing, his appetite for skinned sheep already lost.

_'Ungrateful creature!' _The voice repeated angrily._ 'I am the one who has created you in the middle of the first book, I permitted you to rest in peace for the other two and a half books – except for a few pages_ _here and there – and now, you dare call me names? Am I your Creator or not?'_

Murtagh fell to his knees and started shaking from the shock the voice had caused him entering his mind. The Writer had unfortunately returned!

_'You, my stray son!'_ the Writer continued unstoppable. _'I have created you young, strong, clever, healthy – except for this little scar …'_

Listening to this, Murtagh dared to raise his head.

_'About this scar … I would like to have one word or two with you some time …'_

_'Do. Not. Interrupt. Rider!'_ the Writer thundered again, causing him to tremble again on his knees and bow his head. _'Now, what was I talking about? Oh, yes. I made you fearless and determined, rebellious, even loyal sometimes. The dark type of hero girls get crazy about, and still you are not satisfied. Not to mention that the one and unique time you smile, I made you strikingly handsome.' _The tremendous scolding had caused the Rider's submission to this Supreme Creature, and he would have subsided if the next sentence was not spoken, at least not with a tone of self-conceit._ 'I even permitted you to live in the end.'_

That was too much. Murtagh once again jerked angrily.

_'You left me trudging in a world of anger. I would like to be in the things, I would like to be a part of the story. And I would like to stay.' _

_'You see?'_ the Writer's voice echoed again. _'Never happy!'_

_'You separated me from my brother, I was very fond of the boy, I would like to stay and help.' _The cascade of complaints began to spring out of the Rider's chest._ 'And then it is Nasuada's case …' _he started again, to be cut short.

_'It was inevitable that you leave'_ the Writer thundered again. _'She was a mortal woman and you're a Dragon Rider.'_

_'You could have arranged things better!' _ This time the Rider's voice echoed strict and determined.

_'If you imply your separation, Rider, then know that this is something that often happens in the real world' _the Writer justified himself with some conceit.

_'If your readers wanted to read about the real word, they would have opened the newspaper and not your books.'_ Murtagh raged.

_'Rider!'_ Writer's voice took a more quiet tone, even soothing. _'Not only have I spared your life, but I've made you leave exactly at the proper time. You were so angry and damaged that your presence would only cause trouble. I'm proud of myself that I've made you clever enough to understand this. Would you rather damage the newly established peace with your presence? Would you rather harm Nasuada, the one you had already hurt so much with your own hands?' _

Of all the things said that was the worst. Murtagh drew Zar'roc from its scabbard and waving it around, raged against the Writer.

_'You, wicked, awful creature! Of all the terrible things you've done to me, __this__ was the most terrible!' _

_'Do not blame me, Rider, but the King. After all, __this__ was his own idea. And let me remind you that I am not a_ _'creature' but the Creator!'_ the Writer was calm now, even jovial. _'Look around you, my son! All this beautiful land and the beings in it, is my own creation. But this is something we will discuss about some other time. Now, I have to go. I'm keeping a meeting with my publisher. Have a nice day, Rider.'_ And the voice inside his mind vanished.

Murtagh, angrily kicked the dirt and stones under his feet once again. He stabbed forcefully at a rock the size of an armchair embedding the blade up to the hilt.

_'Oouch!'_ Thorn commented. _'Beware, Murtagh, or else you will create another legend. We'd better go hunting.'_

The Rider snorted angrily, kicked against the stone once again, and then he drew his blade back, and placed Zar'roc into its scabbard.

'Why is it that every time I wake up in high spirits to enjoy a beautiful day, everything gets on my nerves?' Murtagh's unused voice ground at his ears.

_'You should not have provoked the Creator, in the first place,' _Thorn stated.

_'I cannot stand him! He is worse than the King. You know very well that I dislike others touching my mind.' _

_'You're oversensitive about it, my Rider.' _The Dragon said joyfully. _'He is not breaching your mind, he is just talking to you.'_

_'He'd better not!'_

Thorn descended the hilltop and sniffed at the sheep. His long tongue dragged onto the fleece, tasting the wool.

_'Yuck!'_ the Dragon mentally spat. _'Who wants to eat this? Would you, Murtagh?'_ And earned a venomous glare from his Rider.

_'Let's leave this place and go hunting.'_ Murtagh grabbed the saddlebags and dashed them angrily over the back of his Dragon, checking the straps on Thorn's harness before he climbed up into the saddle.

With a powerful leap, Dragon and Rider were in the air in an instant, the wind whipping against Murtagh's face and hair. Up there, he sensed his anger subside, but the original feeling, the one he experienced once he had woken up this morning, had already vanished.

_… Nasuada … if we could … _

The happily chirping birds around them hurriedly flew away, croaking frightened under the presence of the mighty Dragon.

_'I would like to befriend one of them, some day'_ Thorn innocently stated. _'I dislike_ _them being so afraid of me.'_ And then he acknowledged his Rider's moody silence.

_'We could go and abduct her'_ the Dragon suggested.

_'Thorn! We cannot go and abduct the Queen just like that'_ the Rider frowned.

_'We have done this before'_ said the Dragon. _'And, I dare say, with absolute success'_ he added. '_After all, the custom of abduction of a bride is a traditional custom in many places of the world. If you do it, it won't be a novelty.'_

His Rider was taken aback.

_'How do you know about this?'_

_'You read it in some ancient scrolls once'_ answered the Dragon. _'I've seen this in your memories, my Rider.'_

Murtagh considered for a minute the idea of abducting his bride and finally dismissed the thought.

_'I could never do such a thing again. Back then … this was another matter'_ he sighed.

_'But you would like to abduct her'_ the Dragon mentally teased him.

Murtagh brooded for a while.

_'Yeah, … I would …'_ he finally admitted.

Later, as they were headed towards an area with plenty of hunting, this strange idea of abduction returned to his mind. And, very strangely, it remained there to grow upon him, throughout the rest of the morning.

It was a beautiful day in Alagaësia.

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A short excerpt from the upcoming chapter :

**Ruling a Kingdom is a Very Difficult Task.**

…

Nasuada leaned once again in her armchair. Her thoughts flew towards a certain Rider.

_… If only Murtagh was here …_

She imagined _him_ preside over the parliament, his steely gaze staring down all the opposed parties. If only he was here … And if _his_ mighty Dragon did her the favor to growl …

Oh! Just one little, _… so little …_ loud and menacing growl, they wouldn't have dared make this commotion. Would they?

…..

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**A/N :** Thanks for reading.


	2. Ruling a Kingdom is a Difficult Task

**After the End. Parody.**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, let alone the Writer.

* * *

**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community. **

* * *

**2. Ruling a Kingdom is a Very Difficult Task.**

Nasuada, the High Queen of Alagaësia, leaned against the back of her armchair watching the gathering of her Counsellors, Nobles and Warriors below the dais at her feet, yelling at each other. It was a matter of power that had created all this commotion, and Nasuada could understand very well that it was not going to end so easily, now that it had started. Someone had raised an issue of privileges, and now everyone was fighting with each other, over which party would gain the most.

The High Queen was tired of the partisanship, the shouting and the pettiness of all members, and now she closed her eyes and tried hard to concentrate. It had all started some time ago, about a year after her coronation and during the months following Eragon's departure. And it had all started so nicely!

Soon after the dethronement of the Evil King, Nasuada, examining one of his personal libraries, had discovered a very old scroll of the Dragon Riders, which described the discussion of three ancient, wise generals; two men and an elf were discussing the three known systems of government of their days, analysing them, to reach the conclusion that the third one was best.

Nasuada was fascinated by the description of this last system, called 'Democracy'. She had made a research of her own, and had managed to find more scrolls of the ancient Riders, describing in every detail the system, the detailed functioning of it, and its benefits regarding the welfare of the people.

Wanting to benefit her people, as well as she could, Nasuada had decided to give it a try. She had given instructions for the proper arrangements, so that the Council Chamber had been adjusted according to the descriptions given from the scroll. The houses of Parliament had been called, and it had been the boast and pride of the young Queen.

On the right part of the great Hall, were set the positions of the Nobles; in the middle the Counsellors were seated, representing the commoners; and finally, the left part was occupied by the Warriors. Several scribes would officially record the minutes of the proceedings at the meetings; moreover, there was a gallery, from which several magicians broadcasted the news to their local offices, so that the people would learn about the decisions concerning major matters of the state.

And, in the beginning, it had worked so nicely!

But now, as things had turned out, Nasuade had begun to reconsider the usefulness of this policy.

Should they be gathered to discuss serious matters of the state?

Absolutely!

Should all the voices be heard?

Definitely!

But the objections and the collisions had begun since the very beginning. The Nobles were accustomed to the old ways of the Evil King; the Counsellors were thirsty for more power, as newcomers to it; the Warriors had fought for freedom against the Empire, and now the war was over they waited to gain recognition of their previous sacrifices. They all had different and conflicting interests and all of them were determined to take advantage of as much as they could.

The Queen had watched for days the members of her parliament demanding more and more privileges for themselves, in the middle of an economic crisis, being indifferent to the results on the people, and just minding their own parties.

Nasuada frowned. For some time now, the Warriors had started beating their swords on their shields, creating a terrible commotion.

'What is this, a circus?' the young Queen mumbled, unable to hear her own words.

What was described in the ancient Rider's scroll seemed to be in disorder, and even if she would have liked to give a voice to everyone, Nobles, Commoners, Warriors, she had started repenting making this decision. As the noise of the swords and hitting on the shields increased, Nasuada's frown deepened. The racket was so great that even the werecat, sleeping on her pillow in front of her feet, covered her ears with her wide paw.

The young Queen leaned towards Jörmundur, who was sitting beside her, and whispered in his ear, loudly enough to be heard.

'I do not understand! In the scroll, everything was working perfectly.'

The old man gritted his teeth and murmured something about conceited Riders and their scripts.

'What did you say?' Nasuada asked, since his voice had been lost in the hullabaloo of the hall.

'Too many voices' commented the Ajihad's right hand man strictly. 'As in my village we used to say, too many cooks spoil the broth.'

Nasuada leaned once again in her armchair. All she wanted now was the help of a Dragon. If Eragon was here, he could instruct Saphira to growl for a while, so that the voices would subside. But all these people were accustomed to the presence of the great female Dragon. They had met her up close, they had talked and befriended her Rider, they had praised her. They would definitely not be afraid of her. And Eragon was too far away to help her.

Nasuada's thoughts flew towards a certain Rider.

_… If only Murtagh was here …_

She imagined _him_ preside over the parliament, his steely gaze staring down all the opposed parties. If only he was here … And if _his_ mighty Dragon did her the favor to growl …

Oh! Just one little, _… so little …_ loud and menacing growl, they wouldn't have dared make this commotion. Would they?

Her headache grew awfully worse as the noise of too many voices, and the clanging swords on the shields continued and even increased.

She pressed her fingertips to her aching temples.

'In a situation like this, what would father have done?'

With her head pounding from the commotion, Nasuada tried to remember what her father, the Great Ajihad, had taught her.

'_Daughter!_' the memory of the late Leader's voice, thundered inside her weary mind. '_Listen to me, and listen very carefully! When there appears to be no hope; when everyone around you is screaming like lost souls, and everything you try fails to work; when it appears that chaos and evil will at last triumph over good – then, it is truly time for a vacation._'

Determined, Nasuada stood, straightened the _bonnet rouge_ on her head – her Phrygian red cap of liberty – and raised her hands towards the members of her parliament.

'My Honorable Nobles … Counsellors … Warriors …' she looked towards their three directions smiling the sweetest of smiles she could offer, under the present circumstances, 'we truly need a vacation … er … I mean to adjourn. _After_ an one-hour _lunch_ recess, the Parliament will _continue_ to hear arguments until 3 pm.'

It was late in the same evening that Queen Nasuada managed to reach her champers, tired, upset and with a pounding headache.

As Farica started to help her remove her heavy royal garments, and put upon her something lighter, Elva greeted her with her strange, twisted smile.

'Nasuada, you need my help' the child-woman's voice said.

Nasuada collapsed on a couch and sighed.

'Find me a way to rule all of these.'

'You need a King.' Elva stated seriously.

'Tell me about it!' Nasuada agreed. 'But _my King_ refused to stay.'

Elva smiled again. A half-crooked smile that reminded Nasuada of somebody else. The girl took hold of a half melted candle from Nasuada's desk and brought it near her face. The mark of the Dragons shone on her forehead.

'I will tell you this, to make you happy! As the candle melts under the flame, the same way _his_ heart melts for you every day, every hour.' And the child left the room with a loud cackle.

Soon Farica withdrew too since this was the time for Nasuada's night prayer and the High Queen knelt on her _prie-dieux_, bowed her head and touched her palms together.

_'Gokukara, please, bring my Rider back.' _

Her prayers had recently started with the same words; the words that instinctively left her heart to reach up to her lips. Then, she would think about praying for the Rider's safety and welfare, about the welfare of all of her people; ask for strength and support to endure another day in her parliament, and finished her prayers by thanking the goddess she worshiped.

But today her prayers remained with that particular person. She smiled as she remembered that exactly the same thing had happened a few months ago, causing the most surprising result.

No soon had she started thinking about _him_ …

….

_'Seek and you will find, my daughter!'_ A voice had spoken to her, and Nasuada had looked around her upset. It had taken her a moment to realise that the voice was within her mind, and Nasuada had started instinctively to chant her poem.

_'In El-Harim there lived a man,_

_a man with yellow eyes …'_

But this was a male's voice! Not Gokukara's. It had called her a daughter, but definitely it was not Ajihad's voice. And Nasuada had gone on, scared.

_'To me, he said, Beware the whispers_

_ for they whisper lies …'_

And then this strange, unknown voice had introduced itself, so Nasuada had made the acquaintance of the Writer.

….

_'Good evening, my sweet daughter!'_ the voice of the Writer greeted her, causing her a unique euphoria. Every time he had spoken to her, after the first one, Nasuada had welcomed the voice, for the Writer supplied her with information about the Red Rider.

_'Good evening, Creator!'_ the High Queen greeted him back. _'How do you fare?'_ she didn't have to try to be polite, because of her gentility and out of her noble upbringing. Ajihad had taught her that no one knows where an ally could be found.

_'I fare very well, my daughter'_ the Writer answered pleased. _'My writing has been improved so as to produce at least ten pages per day; my fan club grows steadily; the sales of my books are doing well, and my publisher is happy.'_

Nasuada sighed. If only things were getting so well around her …

_'Have you any news form the Dragon Rider Eragon and Saphira Bright-Scales?_' she asked in hope. The Writer might one day decide to gift Alagaësia with another volume. A fifth one, where he could possibly fix things better, so that no accusation was heard against him, from here and there. In addition, this would be something to serve her own purposes.

_'I'm afraid they're too far away for me to know. I've not even bothered to visualise their world.'_

_'And …'_ here Nasuada hesitated a little. '_what about the other one? The other Rider? Murtagh and his Dragon Thorn?'_

The Writer coughed slightly, to clear his throat.

_'That is the reason of my visit tonight, daughter'_ the voice said with an intense tone. _'I left him rather upset this morning. This man … ahem … Rider, never seems to be happy about his life' _the Writer stated._ 'The one and unique time he was "content", took place in the prison of Farthen Dûr, after you had visited him. Thus, I would like to make a suggestion to you, my dear daughter. Since he is content only in prison, then consider the idea of imprisoning him into your own dungeons. I'm sure that you are capable enough to find the proper cell to hold him.'_ The Writer's voice sounded rather amused. _'But now, I have to leave you, my sweet Queen, I have some other stories to attend to' _and the voice within her mind departed.

This night Nasuada, the High Queen of Alagaësia, entertained very seriously the idea of a Rider – quest.

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A short excerpt from the upcoming chapter :

**To the Other Side of the World.**

…..

'Where is this brother of mine? Didn't he promise one day, he will come?' Eragon felt Murtagh's absence more than he had felt it during his imprisonment in Gil'ead.

_'This has nothing to do with Gil'ead,'_Saphira commented.

'Yes, yes' Eragon agreed. This was worse than Gil'ead, worse than the Raz'zac, worse than his encounter with Durza the Shade. Even worse than the King himself.

…..

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**A/N :** Hi everyone! Today it is my birthday, and I feel alone ... so, I wanted to post something funny. It seems that your reviews will be my birthday present. If I am lucky enough to receive one ...

Thanks for reading.


	3. To the Other Side of the World

**After the End. Parody.**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, let alone the Writer.

* * *

**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community.**

* * *

**3. To the Other Side of the World.**

Eragon, trying to avoid the stains of vomit, stumbled on a hatchling's long, thorny tail tangled between his legs. Another little fellow jumped happily on his shoulders and started licking his hair, turning his parting from left to right.

'Oh! Come on now, miss, I know how much you do love me, but, just get down and relax. After all you are a Dragon and not a hairdresser!'

His hands were busy healing a third one, which had eaten who knows what, and had puked this mess all around. The hatchling on his head paid no attention and continued the same frustrating task.

_'Shaphira, where are you?' _Eragon called his Bright-Scales Dragon in anxiety. _'I urgently need you here!'_

Trying to chant the ancient words of healing, he shook his head to get rid of the 'hairdresser', and avoid the annoying licking, but two others, engaged on a petty quarrel over a piece of hunting, gained momentum and fell on his feet, making him lose balance and fall next to a vomit stain.

_'Sorry little one,' _Saphira sent him a mental image of her, preoccupied among ten or so hatchlings, one having jumped on her back, another biting and scratching at her wings, three others demanding to be fed, some others climbing onto her tail. _'I'm doing my best, Eragon. But I only have two wings …'_

_'Where are these Elves, when I need them so much?' _Eragon wondered, but he already knew the answer. They would probably have created a circle around the hatchlings, singing to them and admiring them; their sparkling colors, the reflections caused by the light falling on their scales, the luster of their talons. Oh, the Elves had proved very good at admiring, especially the female ones, who did their best to spoil every hatchling to the extreme.

As he healed the little fellow in his arms, and advised him from now on to take care of what he ate, he felt Shaphira shaking like a dog, trying to throw off her back and tail the baby Dragons.

_'Oh, Eragon,'_ he heard the mighty Female's voice inside his mind. _'It_ _seems that there is not enough time for you and me anymore.'_

_'I know' _Eragon sighed,_ 'I just wanted us to go flying …'_

_'Perhaps we can do it tomorrow …' _the Great Dragoness said, a doubtfulness in her voice.

As he was standing up, Eragon grabbed the little female from his head and placed her on the ground.

'I've told you, little one, that is enough! You've given me the comb of the decade!'

And it was at this moment he noticed the heels of his new boots having been wildly chewed, and the same little fellow, who, a few days ago had managed to chew the sheath of Brisingr, prowling around his feet, stealthily.

'Oh! No! Not again!' Eragon felt hopeless. And this time he was ready to scold the hatchling. He had already raised a threatening finger, when the little one came and stood in front of him, looking at him in the eye, chirping at him happily, and flapping his wings joyfully. Eragon's anger melted in an instant, like soft cheese spread on a warm, fresh baked piece of bread. His heart could not stand scolding the little one. Instead, he took it into his lap and petted it with tenderness. To this, unfortunately, he resembled the Elves, he thought. Maybe that was the reason he could not maintain order.

At a distance, he noticed a few of the said Elves standing in front of a rock, where many hatchlings had perched, and stretching their hands towards them, expressing their admiration at them. The Elves sang and admired the young Dragons, using strange exclamations.

'Oh là là, how beautiful this is, supérieur!'

'Oh, mon Étoile, oh magnificent Bjartskular!'

Phrases like these, were heard all around. But all this was little help for Eragon's needs. He was ready to start cleaning the vomits, when both young brawlers returned, and forcefully fell to his head. Eragon got pissed. He got to his feet and started angrily.

'That is enough!' Eragon shouted at the hatchlings. 'You are supposed to be Dragons, a noble race. Not some human spoiled children.'

The Elves turned and looked at him annoyed, definitely offended by his explosion of anger against the little Dragons. Then, their attention was recaptured by the hatchlings, and went on singing to them once again.

_'They are spoiled hatchlings. And this is the worst.' _Shaphira echoed inside his mind with desperation.

'We need order here!' Eragon shouted again.

Nobody paid attention.

In the middle of all this mess, Eragon seriously considered returning to Alagaësia. A place he should have never left in the first place.

... ... ... ... ...

_They had sailed the river for days and days. And as the days had become weeks and they had begun questioning their quest, they had discovered a beautiful, tall mountain, full of caves. And he had decided to settle all of them there. And when the first eggs had hatched and the first few hatchlings were stumbling among his legs, he was happy, although they made him fall many times. He was truly, uniquely, wonderfully happy. He had almost forgotten his pain about Arya's absence. And when more eggs had hatched, he was still happy, even if some of the hatchlings had the bad habit of chewing the soles of his boots, or scrabbling onto his shoulders, tearing his beautiful, treasured silk tunics, or scratch his back, or tangle his hair. He just used the healing words, a few patches and a comb to correct this _ _unpleasant situation. And when a hatchling chewed at the scabbard of Brisingr, he was still happy. But in time, the situations had turned to a more serious mess. And now all these were too much for him. Too much for Saphira too._

_Eragon could not find a solution to this problem. He thought about using the 'Name of all Names' against the little Dragons, but then he decided he had better not do such a thing. After all they were just hatchlings._

_He had not yet decided to send an egg, of those which were bonded to find a Rider, to the outside world._

'First we will regenerate the Dragons, and then the Riders'_ he used to state._

_So all these hatchlings were supposed to be wild Dragons. But 'wild' they weren't. Eragon detested seeing them seated on soft pillows, where the Elves placed them, fed with soft, chopped chunks of meat, petted by them, spoiled to the extreme._

_Saphira was not much of a help._

_In the beginning she was fascinated by the newly-hatched Dragons._

'They are so beautiful, Eragon, so sweet and amiable!'_ and she used to justify all their doings or misdoings._

_But this was only in the beginning, when the hatchlings numbered only two or three. But as their numbers increased and they became two or three dozen and more, Saphira had raised her wings. They were too many for them to handle. Eragon knew nothing about children and Saphira knew nothing about hatchlings. The Elves helped as much as they could, admiring and spoiling them, and the Eldunarí … oh, the Eldunarí seemed to have been withdrawn into their own cultural world._

... ... ... ... ...

Eragon could understand that the Eldunarí had suffered for more than a hundred years in the hands of the late Evil King, and that they needed some time to recover and regain their consciousnesses' strength and power. But the present situation was too much for him to handle, so he decided to pay a visit to Umaroth and demand his help, all the Eldunarí's help. He was feeling alone in the middle of a turmoil.

As Eragon entered the room, where all the hearts of hearts had been placed together waiting to be healed, a beautiful melody reached his mind.

_'Allons enfants de la Patrie  
Le jour de gloire est arrivé …'_

The Eldunarí were singing, Umaroth acting as a conductor. It was sometime now they had created this chorus-orchestra and reproduced ancient, inspiring ballads.

Wanting to declare his presence, Eragon coughed slightly.

_' … Contre nous de la tyrannie_

_L'étendard sanglant est levé …'_

_'Umaroth, I am sorry to interrupt you …'_ Eragon started tentatively.

With a mental hint, the ancient Eldunarí imposed silence to all others, and turned his attention to the Rider.

_'Oh! Welcome, welcome, my dear boy'_ Umaroth said, _'what can I do for you?'_

_'I need your help conserning the hatchlings. I need your advice, your support.' _A bit of hidden desperation in Eragon's voice did not escape Umaroth's attention.

_'May I presume that all these Elves you brought along are not helping you with the hatchlings?' _a slightly stern hue in his voice.

_'Oh, yes, yes, they do. I cannot say that they don't.' _Eragon added hastily.

_'Good, good!' _Umaroth relaxed._ 'Then, there is not any problem. You can do very well on your own!'_

_'They are all preoccupied with the hatchlings, but they mostly spoil them, especially the female ones.' _Eragon said.

_'Nonsense, my dear boy, a Dragon cannot be spoiled!'_ Umaroth's heed turned once again towards his chorus. _'Attention, everyone!'_

_'Umaroth!'_ Eragon cried in panic. _'You cannot abandon me just like that. I know you are old, but I depend on you.'_

_'And you do very well, my dear boy,'_ Umaroth said. _'Just relax and enjoy.'_

_'How can I possibly relax in the middle of all this mess, and how can I enjoy, without Arya being around?' _Eragon burst out.

_'Aha!'_ said Umaroth. _'Here we come to the real problem. Oh, mon ami … l'amour, l'amour!'_

_'…L'amour est un oiseau rebelle …' _sang the Eldunarí all together.

_'This has nothing to do with my problem …'_ Eragon started, to be cut short.

_'You are just drowning in shallow water!'_ Umaroth send him an image, of _his_ patting him amicably at his back. _'But of course, it is natural in your emotional situation to feel like that. L'amour, l' amour!' _Umaroth repeated teasingly.

_'Amantes, amentes!'_ commented the Eldunarí in chorus.

_'It's just that …I feel … the worst of things has befallen me …'_

_'The worst of things!'_ Umaroth mentally laughed. _'You, foolish young people, you all think that you understand every situation fully. Which is the worst of things?' _the question addressed to the other hearts.

_'La Bastille, La Bastille!'_ the Eldunari shouted in unison.

_'Er …'_

'Did you want to add something more, Ebrithil Glaedr?' Umaroth asked.

_'Pas champagne?'_

Umaroth turned towards Eragon, or at least he would have done so, if he still possessed a body.

_'You see, young man? Things are not as bad as you consider them to be.'_

Umaroth's attention turned once again towards the Eldunari, to the task at hand.

_'My Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please! Let's start from the very beginning!'_

_'A very good place to start!'_ chorused all the Eldunari together.

_'When we read, we begin ..?'_ Umaroth continued.

_'With A, B, C!'_ the Eldunari stated.

_'When we sing, we begin with ..?'_

_'Do, Re, Mi!'_ the Eldunari sang happily in unison.

The tone they produced captured Eragon's attention. He would gladly stay there, watching them singing, he could even sing with them, but at this moment he was so confused he would not cooperate. All he wanted was to find a place to relax and rest his mind; to think, to decide what had to be done.

_'Umaroth, I need your help and support. Why have you abandoned me?'_ he complained.

_'I haven't abandoned you, dear boy. I'm doing my task here.'_

_'Your task?'_

_' Entertain the Eldunari.'_

_'Entertain? We have a mission here! A task to fulfill.'_

_'Oh, calm down boy, you are taking life too seriously. Enjoy!'_

A musical cacophony was heard diffused, as if all the members of an orchestra were simultaneously tuning their organs. Umaroth concentrated once again on his conducting, lightly tapping a mental baguette on a fantastic podium, until the noise ceased and everyone – Eragon included – paid attention to him.

_'Avanti!'_

Eragon got crazy. He turned on the chewed heels of his boots and left.

He walked down the hallway in a blue mood, the naked tip of Brisingr scraping the granite floor.

'Where is my brother, when I need his help?' Eragon felt Murtagh's absence more than he had felt it during his imprisonment in Gil'ead.

_'This has nothing to do with Gil'ead,'_ Saphira commented.

'Yes, yes' Eragon agreed. This was worse than Gil'ead, worse than the Raz'zac, worse that his encounter with Durza the Shade. Even worse than the King himself.

He withdrew in his personal office trying to regain self control and focus.

'Calm down Eragon, calm down!' He said to himself, and he tried to breathe and practice the self control of Rimgar in vain. Then a thought came to him. If he offered his prayers to Gûntera? And if not, then to whom else? To the star of dawn? To the spirit of Vrael? He was not so sure whether the gods existed or not. But he could try this … just in case …

He knelt and started praying to all of them together. At the edge of his mind he could sense Saphira, …. all those hatchlings among her feet.

'No, it is useless! I cannot concentrate, we need some order here and I need help!'

He stood and grabbed a cup filled with water.

'Where is this brother of mine? Didn't he promise one day he would come?'

He placed the cup on his desk, called his magic from within his core, and chant.

'Draumr kópa!'

In an instant the surface of the water began to glow like a mirror, and as soon as the glowing subsided, an image was revealed. And there, under the shadow of a great tree, he saw his brother indolently lying on the thick, green grass, chewing at a big, red, juicy apple and reading peacefully a scroll with old poems.

'Look at this!' Eragon raised his hands in despair. 'Brother! I suffer all these torments, as if on the gallows, and you are relaxed and enjoying reading?'

... ... ... ... ...

On the other side of the world, Murtagh felt a tickle on the tip of his nose and ears and he understood that somebody was trying to scry him.

'What the Hellgrind!' Murtagh swore and stood, dropping the apple and scroll.

_'Hush!' _Thorn echoed inside his mind._ 'Do not swear, Rider! There are children, young people who read this.'_

_'Yeah, yeah, alright!'_ And Murtagh used a spell preventing anyone from seeing him.

... ... ... ... ...

The image of his brother vanished before Eragon in an instant.

'Barzuln! I cannot understand …'

_'Eragon! I need help with all these hatchlings here!'_

Saphira sounded crazy and suddenly Eragon could understand.

'I know better now. I understand … why. I understand … I understand – we understand' he whispered, and Saphira uttered a strange sound that was half whimper and half growl in his mind.

They both could understand now. They could understand that if they wanted to see his brother and his Dragon, they would have to travel back to Alagaësia and meet them there.

* * *

_Amantes, amentes=lovers are crazy_

_L'amour est un oiseau rebelle=Love is a rebellious bird (Carmen's song from Bizet's opera Carmen)_

_Pas champagne=no champagne_

* * *

A short excerpt from the upcoming chapter :

**4. The Green Leaves of ****The **Forest.

... ... ... ... ...

'Wyrda!'

Firnen unleashed a long, green tongue against the white raven, half-mocking, half-threatening him, and Blagden bounced on his branch annoyed.

'Dragons, like wagons, have tongues …'

A thick cloud of black smoke covered him, coming from the Dragon's nostrils, and gave him a constant cough.

'Wyrda … cough, cough … wyrda!'

_'__I would teach you your wyrda now'_ Firnen said, _'but you are lucky that I find you funny.'_

'Wyr …'

_'Your Wyrda __might start blackening again!'_ Another black cloud came out of the Dragon's nostrils and caused Blagden's white feathers to blacken on their edges.

_'Here is your Wyrda!'_ Fírnen said derisively.

Arya growled again against the assembly of the Elves. She could very well understand that this was not polite, she was not polite at all; but she didn't care a bit. She could not control anymore this part of her soul which had begun to turn into a Dragon's.

... ... ... ... ...

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading.


	4. The Green Leaves of The Forest

**After the End. Parody.**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, let alone the Writer.

* * *

**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community.**

* * *

**4. The Green Leaves of The Forest.**

She was a fan of the human culture – one of the few – and she was an eccentric one. She used to stroll around the elven forests singing songs for the flowers to bloom. Yes, yes, I know! This is something all the Elves usually do, and on an everyday basis, of course. But the songs she used to sing were quite different from the usual ones. The long years she had lived and studied the alien culture had made her develop her own preferences to various and curious cycles of songs which the humans appreciated. Her favorite cycle was the one very well known among her people as "The Cycle of the Mary-Sues."

… _beautiful girl at the prairie, picking flowers …_

… _stumbles on a big, white, shining stone …_

… '_What is this? … A Dragon egg! …_

… _Oh my god! It hatched for me!' …_

The elf woman knew very well from her experience that songs like that weren't much of a help for the flowers to bloom, but as she was an eccentric one, she stubbornly insisted on her preferences. Besides, the flowers were blooming anyway, weren't they? It was a beautiful summer day, the sun was shining, the birds were flying and chirping happily, and the clearing about was all green.

So, on that particular summer day, she was strolling around, caressing the petals of the flowers and singing a song selected from "The Very Long and The Very Tiresome Cycle of the Dark-haired Rider in Red."

_... dark-haired handsome Rider, on his dragon in red ..._

_... hands me an emerald stone, going straight to my_ _ oh, my! What is this?

Her ears caught a very strange, shrieking sound she had never heard before, but it wasn't an unpleasant one. It was not unpleasant, but it was unfamiliar and would not follow the singing rules the elves had been used to. She would describe it rather … dissonant. Could it be the singing of a bird? But what kind of a bird could sing in such a screaming tone?

She followed her pointy ears and very soon she realised that this strange sound came from the Menoa tree that dominated the clearing. The elf woman was shocked. Could something have happened to the tree? Could someone have bothered it? She ran with her bare, lithe feet crossing the clearing like an arrow. And there, among the mighty roots of the tree tangled on the ground, lying on the thick, green grass was the cause of this dissonant cacophony.

… _a baby! _

The elf woman couldn't believe her feline eyes. A baby! … Abandoned? She came closer to take a better look. An elven baby! … A female, elven baby, abandoned! …

… _who?_

Who would dare commit such a crime? She knelt and held the baby girl very carefully, and in an instant the strange shrieking stopped. She looked puzzled at this tiny, baby-face. The girl's head was covered with a soft, silken fluff, the silver colour of a moonbeam, and her tiny ears were slightly pointed, but pointed anyway. The eyes held the gray-green tinge of a young sapling, and the lips were sucking the air. But the strangest thing was her skin. It was the colour olive green. Too dark for an elf, too light for a tree.

The baby's lips sucked the air for a while, then she started shrieking again.

… _Crying!_

Yes, crying it was called, and it was obvious that the baby was hungry. The elf woman used her magic – this time, she abandoned her eccentricities and used her pure, elven magic – to call a young doe she had sensed nearby. The doe came running, followed by her fawn and she sniffed at the elven one. And as she was with plenty of milk, she willingly gave her nipple to feed the baby, her well-fed fawn with its beautiful, liquid eyes watching the other one sucking the delicious milk. The elf woman lifted the girl, covered her with her veils and brought her to Ellesméra.

On that morning, all the elf population ran up and down excitedly.

… … … … …

Arya was sitting alone in her room. She had settled down in the same room she had used as a princess. At least, this one she had retained for herself, so as not to be obliged to occupy her late mother's royal chambers. She was sitting wondering, her eyes captured by her Black Morning Glory; the black flower Fäolin had once created for her, using his magic to preserve its blossom. Arya was wondering about the war and the wounds it had inflicted upon her people, leaving the beautiful forests with lacking in elven potential; about the numerous things she had to sacrifice, wanting to offer her people as much as she could from the Queen's post. Or at least, so Arya had thought … in the beginning.

Sighing, she looked at her father's, Evandar's, fairth. In the beginning she had believed that she was very important to her people, but as the time passed, she was becoming more and more ascertained that life had continued normally, and had not stopped the moment Islanzadí Dröttning had died, and that she, herself, was not so important to the elves, as she had thought she might have been in the beginning. The wounds of the war were healing little by little, and the political affair of Ellesméra was going well. The trees were growing; the birds were flying; the animals were mating; the forest was thickening; the elves were singing, and their lives continued the same way, as if they had not experienced this terrible event.

Many times Arya was feeling her presence here unnecessary. At least, her offer to her people seemed to be a deficient one. For example, she was not the Queen everyone had expected her to be; she was unable to imitate her mother's magnificence. Even Islanzadí's royal garments seemed foreign upon her daughter. That cape of hers, made of swan feathers, the same one that captured all the elves' admiration, seemed alien on her body. Every time she had tried to wear it, it had caused her a tremendous sneezing – due to an old allergy she suffered because of the feathers – a fact that diminished the magnificence to which the elves had been accustomed from their Queen. Besides, she had lived for so long among humans and so close to some of them that she had identified herself with their cause, their war, their councils, their fights. Among them she had felt necessary and useful for so many years. She had carried Saphira's egg, she had been the ambassador of the elves, she had fought along them, she was accustomed to living a dangerous life. She even felt a longing for the tight, black, leather clothes she used to wear – clothes she had had to abandon because of the discomfort the elves felt against any animal's killing. And now, all this calmness in Ellesméra was getting on her nerves.

Her only consolation was her Dragon, but the forest was not the most suitable place for a Dragon to live. Fírnen grew older and bigger and he could not fit anymore so comfortably in the narrow paths of Ellesméra. The natural environment for a Dragon is in the skies, so Arya used to spend most of her hours in the Crags of Tel'naeír, where Oromis and Glaedr had lived, where Eragon and Saphira had been trained. Her presence there, in the Crags of Tel'naeír, was a fact that had caused many kindly uttered complaints on the part of the elves, who wanted to see their Queen on her throne in the Tialdarí Hall.

Arya sighed again and stood up, ready to depart for the Crags. In the back of her mind, she could feel Fírnen anxious to go. She sheathed her blade, Támerlein, in her belt – another cause of resentment for the Elves who did not approve of weapons outside the training field – and started to go. But at that exact moment, the most curious thing happened. Without any warning, a strange, unfamiliar voice entered her mighty mind, talking to her.

'_Atra esterní ono thelduin, my dear Queen of the Elves!'_

Arya was surprised. This was a voice she had never heard before in her long life, until now. This was the voice of a stranger. Straightening her body, her hands on her hips, she demanded:

'_Atra du evarínya ono varda, but only if you tell me who you are, and how you have managed to penetrate the magic of Gilderien the Wise that prevents everyone from entering our forests!'_

She felt rather than heard the alien being chuckle.

'_My dear daughter, I am the one who has created this forest, the Elven magic and the Elves themselves.'_ The stranger's voice seemed amused_. 'And I have to announce very important news to you, dear Queen.'_

Arya, obviously annoyed, retaliated verbally.

'_Here is the glorious land of the Elves! We have lived on it for thousands and thousands of years, and we do not believe in gods!'_

The Queen frowned angrily when she heard the voice chuckle once again.

'_Well, then let me introduce myself, Arya Dröttning, you see, I am the_ _Writer!'_

This time Arya's eyes narrowed suspiciously in anger.

'_Who?'_ From the edges of her nostrils there emerged a small cloud of black smoke and a deep growl started to be heard from within her chest. She couldn't help it, but lately she had started feeling and reacting like a Dragon.

'_But, the_ _Writer of course, my dear daughter …'_

Arya growled menacingly. Who was this who dared to call her 'daughter' twice? _Her!_ The daughter of Evandar!

'… _and the news I have for you …'_

A green jet of fire escaped unwittingly Arya's nose and her menacing roar must have been heard in the entire Hall. The alien presence and his voice disappeared instantly. Arya touched her nose with the tips of her fingers.

…_what is happening to me? …_

Inside her mind she could feel Fírnen's curiosity rising, along with his worry for her. Before anything else happened, she jumped out of the window of her room – unwilling to meet any of the elves – and hurried for the Crags of Tel'naeír.

… … … … …

Outside her room, Fírnen patiently awaited her.

'_Arya!'_ the Dragon joyfully spoke to her mind, flooding it with a blissful feeling. '_We will fly together!'_

It was not a question; it was a desire, a longing, a yearning, a need that lingered to be fulfilled. The Queen of the Elves, with grace and dexterity jumped onto the saddle of the young Dragon, and made herself comfortable, securing her legs with the leather straps. She touched tenderly her cheek on the emerald scales of his neck and sent him her loving feelings.

'_I'm so glad we are together!'_

Her heart overflowed with joy for his mighty existence. She may have used to say to everyone – including herself – that she lived for her people's needs, but, in fact, she lived for her Dragon. She had felt her heart unite with his own, as if some time, as she was sharing tenderness with him, she had swallowed his Eldunarí, and now it lived inside her own body. Moreover, each passing day Arya realised that on her elven identities, new ones were steadily added; those of a Dragon, like the cloud of smoke and the fire she had caused earlier, to threaten the presence of this alien being. Argh! 'Writer'? The very idea!

Fírnen spread his massive wings; every inch of them was needed to lift his muscular body and thick bones. The Dragon with utmost care – to avoid hitting or tangling among the tall, ancient trees – rose in the air. He circled above the Tialdarí Hall and turned to head towards the Crags of Tel'naeír. From this height in the sky, Arya noticed an unusual movement inside the city of the Elves. She spotted the swift-legged inhabitants, running from the one tree-house to the next, but in spite of the fact that this was a phenomenon not often observed, she didn't pay much attention.

'_What troubles you, Arya my Rider?'_

Fírnen was excited, flying in the wide, blue sky. His emerald scales reflected a wavelength of bright light between yellow and blue – a wavelength that many years later human scientists would calculate between 500 and 570 nanometers, and many hundreds of lumen. Arya sighed deeply.

'_I have lived among humans for such a long time,'_ the Queen of the Elves answered, the very strange emotion starting once again adversely to affect her psyche.

Fírnen smiled mentally, sending her a comforting feeling at the same moment.

'_They have lived with you for so long,'_ he commented.

Arya blinked to avoid tears in her eyes which derived from the luminous brilliance of her Dragon's scales reflecting the bright sunlight. Or at least that was what she thought. In the depths of her mind an image started forming, but as she was distracted by many other thoughts, she put it aside. The image of an item that very many years later, a human named James Ayscough would process, creating what would later became widely known as 'the sunglasses'.

'_I cannot understand myself. I wanted so much for the time to come and see the end of the war! I wanted so much to enjoy the fruits of peace. Why am I not satisfied now?'_

The Dragon landed and folded his strong, enormous wings. With the grace of a young, wild cat, Arya jumped off the saddle and faced her partner of mind and heart. Using his snout, Fírnen shuffled her long, black hair affectionately.

'_Sometimes, I feel so tired,'_ Arya went on. '_My head aches and I have to use my magic to relieve it.'_ The Dragon rubbed his green muzzle at her side fondly, and Arya scratched his snout softly. '_Some other times I forget what I was about to say, and I feel strange pains in my muscles, right here.'_ She pointed her butt's shapely muscles. '_When I sit on the throne for too long, it hurts. Additionally, I have lost my appetite, I feel a deep grief in my chest followed by pain, and then, I find it difficult to breathe.'_

Under the morning sun, the mighty Dragon coiled around her lazily, and he rested his muzzle on the ground, focusing an emerald eye on her own. An eye that at that exact moment, shone with an extra tender lux, added to the other many hundreds of the previously said lumen.

'_I know that'_ Fírnen said. '_It happens every time you think of the Dragon Rider Eragon.'_

Not wishing to discuss that topic, Arya turned towards the forest and faced the hut where Oromis had lived, the place where the said Dragon Rider had been trained.

'_I've made this thought: that I suffer all these symptoms because of the war, and the malice I have been exposed to for so many years.'_ She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to relieve the strange burning she felt in her throat.

'_Oh, Arya!'_ the Dragon nudged her. '_Don't you think that what you suffer from may be what the military men call the "Gulf War syndrome"?'_ he said naughtily.

'_Fírnen!'_ she scolded him. '_This is not funny!'_

'_But you must consider it, dear Arya. You have just described all the symptoms. Or else, it may be a psycho-neurotic situation you are facing here'_ he insisted.' _Like your sneezing because of the feathers of Islazadi's coat.'_

Arya frowned. Unwilling to talk about it, she climbed on the saddle again.

'_Let's go back, Firnen,'_ she asked him. '_The elves will be looking for me.'_

She turned and looked again at the little hut. She wished she could stay here for the rest of the day. For all of her days. _Here_, she could imagine that all her expectations from life would be fulfilled. _Here_, she could feel 'free'. _Here_, on the Crags of Tel'naeír, where the Dragon Rider Oromis and his Dragon Glaedr had lived, she could not help but think; would it have been better for her if she had gone with Eragon Shadeslayer, to help him raise the Dragons? Would she have been more useful to him than here?

… … … … …

Fírnen had hardly landed outside the Tialdarí Hall when Arya saw all the elves gathered around the royal residence; at least all the elves of an importance to their society. Lord Däthedr himself awaited her at the entrance. Entering the Hall, the puzzled Queen noticed many of the elves among the leaves and branches of their tree-houses, many more discretely standing on the narrow paths of the elven capital, the gardens of the palace full of them. It seemed that over half of Ellesméra's population stood awaiting there.

Lord Däthedr bowed and voiced the typical greetings then showed her inside.

'Arya Dröttning, we are all waiting for you. Something amazing has happened and at the same time extremely … weird.'

As she was heading towards the throne room accompanied by the elven noble, she felt Fírnen struggle through the entrance.

'_Oh, Arya, when I grow bigger, I will have an issue here, every time I want to enter'_ Fírnen spoke to her mind.

Arya was directed towards the throne room of the elven kingdom, having the impression that the tangled branches forming the walls of the long corridor suppressed her slim form, as they did her Dragon's. She sensed Fírnen biting at a couple of roots and growling slightly and gnashed her teeth. As she was passing, the elves were slightly bowing in her presence, twisting their palms, touching their chests and addressing her with their standard polite greeting.

She had just sat on the throne when she heard the crying. Astounded, she pinned her gaze at Lord Däthedr's face who waited inexpressively in front of her. Arya had lived many long years among the humans and their astonishing fertility had made her witness to enough babies' crying to recognize the shrieking sound immediately.

'Why have I not been informed immediately of this incident?' Arya demanded.

Lord Däthedr, obviously offended, bowed to her again, and then he straightened his proud stature.

'With all my respect, my Queen, if you had been here we would have been able to inform you instantly of the finding of the baby' he retaliated in an acute tone.

The sound of his voice indicated that once again the elves were not satisfied of her actions as their Queen. Unwillingly, Arya growled menacingly, angry at the lie. If they wanted, they would have informed her mentally. The fact that they had neglected it betrayed how unnecessary she was to them. Or at least, that thought entered Arya's head. The Elven noble back-stepped as he lifted his proud brow, too polite to comment on the insult. Fírnen's presence maybe have prevented many reactions, but a few surprised exclamations were heard in the throne hall here and there. Lord Däthedr nodded at an elf woman, and she presented the wrapped baby to the Queen. She was the same woman who had found the elven child, and who, very proud of herself – maybe her eccentric efforts about the blooming of the flowers were not so successful, but with the baby she had done wonderfully – narrated to the Queen all about the finding.

'Wyrda!' cried the white raven, jumping on his branch next to the throne of the Queen, and earning a glare from Arya. Lately, even Blagden was an annoyance to her.

Fírnen stooped and fixed his emerald eye on the little female elf. Arya rather felt than saw his nostrils pulsate, sniffing at her, and, unwittingly she imitated him; wet soil, pine needles of an ancient forest, and ... a very strangely familiar smell.

'_I like her colour,'_ the Dragon commented. '_It holds a much lighter tint than my own.'_

Hearing this comment, Arya focused on the baby elf. At that moment the little girl was awake, eyes fixed on the Queen with curiosity. Arya was impressed by the colour of her eyes and Fírnen was right about the tint of her skin. On seeing this tiny face, a strangely familiar feeling made her heart palpitate; especially when the baby smiled at her.

'Who is the parent of this child?' she asked the elf woman. She was deeply impressed by the way and the place the baby had been found. The answer to her question came from Lord Däthedr.

'Arya Dröttning, no one in the elven town. Even if there was someone outside it, we would definitely have known about the pregnancy. Such events do not go unnoticed in our community; one only needs to have the mind to notice.'

The hidden venom in these words did not escape her attention, and she would have growled again if the raven had not interrupted the stirring of anger inside her chest with his strident voice.

'Wyrda!'

Arya glared at him again.

'A group of elves is visiting the Menoa tree at this very moment' Lord Däthedr said, 'and they will try to communicate with Linnëa. They might be able to derive some information from her. But, with all due respect, my Queen' the elf lord said, 'this baby looks like the Saviour of all races, Shadeslayer, Kingkiller and the Bane of Evil, Dragon Rider of Saphira Bjartskular, Eragon Bromson.'

This time Arya growled enraged. How could anyone banish Evil? Evil is always around, along with Good, so anyone could choose which way to follow.

'Wyrda!' shouted the white raven, as all the elves, offended, made light, backward steps, and gave Arya the impression that the bird was taunting her and her feelings.

Firnen unleashed a long, green tongue against the white raven, half-mocking, half-threatening him, and Blagden bounced on his branch annoyed.

'Dragons, like wagons, have tongues …'

A thick cloud of black smoke covered him, coming from the Dragon's nostrils, and gave him a constant cough.

'Wyrda … cough, cough … wyrda!'

'_I would teach you your wyrda now'_ Firnen said, '_but you are lucky that I find you funny.'_

'Wyr …'

'_Your Wyrda might start blackening again!'_ Another black cloud came out of the Dragon's nostrils and caused Blagden's white feathers to blacken on their edges.

'_Here is your Wyrda!'_ Fírnen said derisively.

Arya growled again against the assembly of the Elves. She could very well understand that this was not polite, she was not polite at all; but she didn't care a bit. She could not control anymore this part of her soul which had begun to turn into a Dragon's. Then her attention was captured again by the strange baby elf. This face held a familiar look indeed, especially the smile. She stood and announced.

'I am visiting the Menoa tree myself!'

… … … … …

Arya reached the clearing and there she saw the Menoa tree having fully blossomed. Wonderful scents were pouring along with its juices, and its leaves were rustling cheerfully, without being agitated by the slightest of breezes. Many elves had gathered around the tree and they had touched their palms to its bark, trying to communicate with Linnëa's mentality, asking her to solve this baby-puzzle. But as they informed their Queen, the Menoa tree had so far ignored them. Arya expressed her desire to be left alone, so the elves, one by one, or in groups of two and three, withdrew from the clearing, whispering softly to one another, eyes filled with wonder.

Arya embraced the tree and touched her cheek to the trunk, as she had done for so many times in the past, trying to contact its intellect.

… _Linnëa …_

Oh, yes! She had tried before with no success. The tree had never acknowledged her so far and had paid the same attention to her as it would have to an ant, walking on one of its roots. Summoning all of her resources, Arya flung a mental shout at the Menoa tree.

… _Linnëa … Linnëa … Awake! I must needs speak with you!_

And she was astounded to see that the great intellect moved, caressing her mind, and flooding it with a sense of joy. Looking up, Arya noticed the branches of the pine trembling and swaying with increasing exhilaration.

… _O mother of the forest! ..._

A shudder of happiness ran through the trunk and roots up to the edge of the clearing and the Menoa tree was ready for the communication. Widening her mind Arya asked …

_Linnëa, what do you know about this baby found among your roots?_

Happiness and joy sprang off the bark, reaching the Queen's body, penetrating her flesh through her skin.

… _Mine! … my daughter! … my precious child! …_

_How can it be? Who is the father? _Greatly astonished the Queen of the Elves asked.

The next moment, her mind was flooded with pictures from the past, and then Arya saw!

… She saw a picture of Eragon immobilized by a root as thick as his arm, sprouting out of the ground and coiled around his left ankle, even thicker roots grasping Saphira by her legs and tail, holding her in place.

… A picture of a nodule of brightsteel ore buried at the very edge of the Menoa tree's roots …

… And she heard! She heard Eragons voice …

… _We will heal your root and trunk if that will satisfy you, but please, may we have the brightsteel?_

… _Will you give me what I want in return, Dragon Rider?_

… _I will …_

… Eragon's voice spoke without hesitation. Of course, he didn't say '_My kingdom for a horse'_ like King Richard the third would say about a thousand years later creating a '_succès'_, but as he was in a similarly desperate need, whatever the price, he would gladly pay it for a Rider's sword.

… She saw the picture of the ground beginning to shake and the roots in front of Eragon beginning to twist and grind, shedding flakes of bark as they pulled aside to reveal a bare patch of dirt, out of which emerged what appeared to be a lump of corroded iron. As the ore came to rest on the surface of the rich black soil, she saw Eragon wincing and rubbing at a spot of his lower belly then the root around his ankle loosening and retreating into the ground, as did those that had been holding Saphira in place.

… She heard Linnëa's voice …

… _Here is your metal … Take it and go …_

…_But …_

… _Go … Go …_

Then the canopy of the Menoa tree grew still, and for several minutes, as the pictures in Arya's mind faded away, all was quiet in the clearing. Then, Linnëa spoke to her again.

…_Take care of my child, of my daughter, Queen of the Elves … take care of her …_

So whispered the voice, and then the tree's consciousness withdrew from her, receding deeper and deeper into itself until Arya could barely sense its presence.

The Queen moved away from the giant pine. All her body was trembling and shaking. Linnëa's revelations had left her astounded. Fírnen came closer and touched his snout on his Rider's brow.

'_So, Lord Däthedr was right about this. Eragon Shadeslayer is the father …' _the young Dragon had seen all the pictures and heard all the voices the Menoa tree had shown to his Rider.

Hearing this, Arya growled angrily, and she cursed from the depths of her core Linnëa's taste for younger men.

'_My dear Queen of the Elv…'_ the voice of the Writer tried, but once he started speaking, Arya roared angrily and wildly, making him disappear. Then, she thought about her own taste in men, and growled even more angrily.

'_Why him?'_ she asked her Dragon trembling with rage_. 'Why not anyone else?'_

'_Why not?'_ Fírnen's voice echoed amused inside her mind. '_She could not depend on the fertility of the elves. On the other hand, humans are fertile.'_

'_Eragon is not human! At least not anymore.'_ She climbed on the saddle and mentally sent her Dragon the image of the Crags of Tel'naeír. '_I want to be left alone, to think. Firrnen, get us there …'_

This time she entered the hut and after touching a few abandoned items on the shelves and table, she came to lie on the bed of the back room, Fírnen's head rammed in through the window, his bright eyes resting on her.

'_It does not really matter'_ the Dragon commented.

Arya spread out her long, raven hair on the pillow. She pursed her lips tightly.

'_I suppose, it doesn't …' _She watched thoughtfully the pattern of the tangled roots forming the ceiling. '_You know, sometimes I think that I … maybe I … I think of the possibility of me going where _he _is, and helping _him _raise the Dragons.' _There was a heightened awareness of loss and longing and regret in her voice. She turned to face her young Dragon. In the dim light his large head allowed through the window, she noticed his eyes knowingly interested. '_Do you … do you miss _her_?'_

The Dragon snorted and involuntary sneezed lightly, staining the air, the sheet, and Arya's boots with droplets.

'_Ooops! It seems that when we come to this, I have my allergies too …ahem …I think I've rushed the situation a bit ...'_

'_Er … may I?'_

The same wit and his annoying voice dared to appear again at the edge of her mind! Arya grew angrier than ever against the creature self-called 'Writer' and, sitting up on the bed she began growling darkly and menacingly. The Writer and his voice withdrew in a hurry.

After she had growled so many times, Arya started searching her white, perfect skin, fearing that green scales might have started growing on her flawless complexion; but fortunately for her – and her fans – her looks were as pure and beautiful as ever. Sighing with relief she stood and exited the hut, heading to the edge of the crags, Fírnen following her.

'_I admit that I was a little hasty about her'_ the Dragon admitted.

Arya was caught by surprise.

'_I thought that you liked her!'_

'_Of course I liked her, the dear Grandmother! But she was too old for me; not to mention that emotionally I was not ready to mate yet. I just thought that she was the last female Dragon and that it was my duty to do so. Or else, I would prefer a younger one. After all, she bit my tail. Arya, she bit my tail! How can I possibly forget about it?'_

Instinctively Arya's hands hugged Fírnen's neck, and she touched her cheek to the soft scales there. Τhe memory of the bitten tail her Dragon sent her, influenced her so much that she would have stretched out her hand to protect her own tail, if she possessed one.

'_But, she was indeed the last female Dragon. We couldn't know if and when another one would hatch. Even now … we cannot tell for sure'_ she assured him. '_What you've done, is well done! It was your duty after all.'_

'_Yes, but … what had the Red one done about it? The lazy one! They had a more proper difference of age.'_

After having considered this for a while, Arya answered.

'_He had been enslaved by the evil King, same as his Rider. Except in the battlefield, they had not really met. And after that … they both self exiled.'_

'_And he has left her to me, to do the entire duty thing with her. Pft! The old spinster!_'

'_She is not an old spinster!' _Arya scolded him, annoyed. '_You have already mated with her.'_

'_If only she still were!_' The Dragon snorted.

Arya stood on the edge of the Cliff, her beautiful, green eyes surveying the tops of the trees of the forest.

'_If we ever decided to go … there … and …find the Dragon Rider Eragon and Saphira Bjartskular …'_

'_Achoo!'_ Fírnen sneezed once again.

'_Bless you, and here is the truth!'_ Arya blessed him.

'_Snort … thank you Arya,'_ the Dragon said, '_But I think … '_

A small, distant, blue speck on the sky made its appearance and was approaching faster and faster.

'_Speak of the dev …'_

'_Don't say that!'_ Arya stopped him. She had seen the blue spot turning bigger and brighter in the sky too; and she had understood Saphira was coming back. And she was not alone!

'_Achoo!'_

'_Bless you!'_

* * *

A short excerpt from the upcoming chapter :

**Under the Shadows of Farthen Dûr. **

….

Hvedra with the rosy cheeks and the pale white calves looked at him vexed.

'Is that so?' she said, brandishing her rolling pin threateningly. 'Then let me remind you this, my dear King, Grimstborith and husband! The. War. Is. Over! Besides, the fact that you are a King now is something that you owe to the Red Rider.'

Listening to this the Dwarf King sat up abruptly, his grip tightening on the hilt of Volund.

'What are you implying, woman?'

Hvendra narrowed her eyes and crossed her hands on her enormous breasts.

'I'm not just a woman! I am your Grimstcarvlorss and your Queen!' she glared at him.

The Dwarf King flinched on his seat. He well recognized this glare she gave him. He had received a matching one during the second year of their marriage, when he had dared to forget their anniversary. Orik didn't like to remember what had followed this one first glare.

…..

* * *

**A/N: **Here I have another song for you, selected by "The Extremely Long and Melodic Cycle of The Beatles Songs".

_It's been a hard day's night_

_And I've been working like a dog_

_It's been a hard day's night_

_I should be sleeping like a log_

_Instead I've posted for you_

_I'm sure the reviews that you do_

_Will make me feel alright._

* * *

Thanks for reading.


	5. Under the Shadows of Farthen Dûr

**After the End. Parody.**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, let alone the Writer.

* * *

**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community.**

* * *

**5. Under the Shadows of Farthen Dûr. **

'Hand me some more flour, girl!'

Hvedra, the Grimstcarvlorss of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum and Queen of the Dwarves was preparing one of her mushroom pies. One of the main reasons Hvedra with the rosy cheeks and the pale white calves had been elected in this post since long, was her delicious mushroom pies which had made her famous in the world of the Dwarves.

High-Queen in her Royal Kitchen, Hvedra, having arranged all her other duties, had put on her clean, starched apron, had gathered round her most of her maids, and had set to work the fluffy dough skillfully with her rolling pin.

As the maid hastened to obey, the Grimstcarvlorss added the required amount of flour and rolled the dough to flatten it with a forward and backward stroke of her rolling pin, until she obtained the desired thickness. Then, she placed it carefully in a round, nonstick form, added the stuffing and covered it with another flattened piece of dough. The Grimstcarvlorss and Queen of the Dwarves scratched one of her rosy-cheeks thoughtfully. Should she add another piece of flattened dough over her pie? The King, Grimstborith, and her beloved husband Orik preferred a crispy crust over his pie. And Hvedra wanted to please him every time. He worked so hard, the dear one ...

The Grimstcarvlorss sighed indecisive. She had so many duties herself. She had to ensure that the families of the clans paid their agreed-upon tithes to Bregan Hold; that the herds were driven to the proper fields at the proper times; that the stocks of feed and grain did not fall too low; that the women of the clan weaved enough fabric; that the warriors were well equipped; that the clan was well managed, and would prosper and thrive. But when it came to her husband's pleasure, the Queen lent a hand in the cooking. Though, admittedly, this excessive concentration of power in the same house sometimes caused problems. Hvedra was lucky she had been born a skilful woman. She grabbed her rolling pin and determinedly she started to work on another piece of dough to cover her royal pie.

… … … … …

At that exact moment, the King was passing through the dexterously carved tunnels of Farthen Dûr at a brisk and nervous pace, followed by his guards. The men almost ran to catch up with their Grimstborith and King, and it didn't escape them that he whispered some expletives every now and then. The king had just exited of the conference hall of the clans in Tronjheim and the news that had reached his ears was really bad. Dark news, which the rest of the Grimstborith had grasped at in order to grumble about exceedingly, and express their resentment in every possible way.

This damned, spiteful, sinister and malicious Dragon Rider and his cursed, abominable red Dragon had made their appearance once again in the south of Alagaësia. And not only had they roamed undisturbed here and there, but the terrible beast had dared to savour their flocks. What had the king done to protect them?

The grumpy Nado, the clan chief of Dûrgrimst Knurlcarathn with his flaxen hair streaming over his round-face – face that had turned red due to his anger – had spoken about whole flocks of mangled, lacerated sheep; of torn apart, slaughtered herds, bloodstained meadows and grazing lands; facts that would cause the starvation of the people. Gannel, the clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan had added to all these accusations his own words of disturbance at the disorder and the breaching of public peace, while angrily hitting the blade of his hûthvír on the stony floor of the council room. Both of them had cornered the King for sure, other clan chiefs had added to the ruckus, and the pretty Íorûnn had merely smiled meaningfully and had winked in a rather lewd way to tempt him.

Truth is that there had been sheep killed; and the King of the Dwarves had been aware of it. For some time now the Red Rider and his Dragon had made their appearance, even as south as this. A fact that the guards had reported to him, as well as of the killed sheep, obviously by the Dragon. Of course, not the flocks Nado had mentioned, but two animals on a hillside, which looked as if they had been killed by a huge predator, apparently the Dragon; but very strangely, since the prey was whole, uneaten.

Nado stood up furious when the King – relying on his information – mentioned the number 'two'. For the damned beast not to eat of the abandoned prey, who knows how many more he would have already devoured and abated his hunger! Was the King so naïve as not to see the malice of the Dragon? The cunning of his Rider? The blatant insult? Not to mention that he should have already taken care to avenge the murder of Hrothgar! Time had elapsed, his punishment had been postponed, and the anathema on the Dragon Rider and his red Dragon remained.

The King of the Dwarves had never found himself in such an uncomfortable position in his Kingship until now. They all had turned against him, as if he was the one who had invited the Red Rider; as if he was the one who had killed the sheep; as if he was the one who had murdered Hrothgar; as if he had not sworn for revenge, and as if the humiliation of Murtagh were not the purpose of his life.

But Dragon Rider as he was, he could travel fast with that red, evil beast of his, and no warrior – as strong as he may be – would be able to overpower him.

Often, in his wildest dreams, the King of the Dwarves allowed himself to fantasize ...

Images of the Dragon Rider kneeling in front of him passed from his mind – no, 'kneeling' was not enough because both of them would hold the same height – but shackled, humiliated and fallen prone on the earth! He would grab his long, shaggy hair, he would force him to succumb even more, he would scrub his handsome face on the dirt, and he would force him to admit the offense.

The King suddenly stopped and behind him all his guards abruptly stopped. Orik stamped his feet on the carved-stone corridor angrily and clenched his fists.

'Oh, I hate him! How much I hate him!' and he spat behind his back.

Sidestepping to avoid the royal spit, his guards hurriedly imitated him. They raised their left fists and hit the poles of their axes on the stone.

'We hate him! Barzuln! How much we hate him!' they cried all together and spat behind their backs.

King Orik growled as he continued his way into the arcade. Had he known who this youth was that had sought refuge in Farthen Dûr along with the Dragon Rider Eragon and Saphira, and what he would do to them later, he would have thrown him into the falls of Kóstha-mérna to drown him. He would have left him outside the gates to be hacked to death by the Urgals. He would have allowed – no, not allowed but urged – those cursed twin traitors, to do with him as they knew.

Growling, the King of the Dwarves tried to calm his rage. He set about to return to his home and to his rosy-cheeked Hvedra with her delicious, appetizing mushroom pies. Hvedra with the pale, white calves, who would be waiting for him to calm him after such a long day of hard work. Because, what does a Dwarf need returning to his home, even if he is the King? A soft rub of his nose against his wife's, a caress on his shaggy beard, a delectable, fit for a King mushroom pie on his dining table …

… … … … …

Hvedra half opened the door of the oven and drove her nose through the opening, taking a deep breath. The mushroom pie was almost ready and smelled wonderfully. Her Orik would be very pleased tonight. At that moment, a maid rushed into the kitchen.

'Mistress!' the girl hurried to inform her, 'Master is back home.'

'Good – good' Hvedra said, and she dusted the remnants of flour from her hands on her apron. Then, she took it off and with one of its clean edges she removed some flour from the tip of her nose so as to rub it against her husband's, as a sign of affection between them.

'Mistress, Mistress!' another maid dashed inside the kitchen, her eyes filled with fear and anxiety.

'What is it now?' Hvedra asked irritated at the commotion.

'Master has not hung the Volund on the wall-entrance!' the girl informed, her voice full of trepidation.

'Oh, my! This is a bad omen …' Hvedra folded her apron and put it aside. 'A very bad omen, indeed!' As two other maids darted in panic inside the room, she clapped her hands. 'Hurry! Every one of you in her position. Everything must be in perfect order! Your Master has returned with his hackles up.'

All of them heard the heavy step of the King in the hallway and his full of anger grouchiness. As he entered the kitchen, all the maids stood still. Without paying attention to any of them, Orik started pacing to and fro, upset, grumbling and menacingly striking the wide end of the war hammer into his other palm. Hvedra nodded at the maids to leave and the girls, one by one, withdrew from the kitchen, leaving the royal couple alone.

The Queen approached her husband courageously and took the war hammer from his hands softly, placing it carefully on the table.

'My dearest Orik …'

Hvedra rubbed the tip of her nose against his and she offered him the seat at the head of the table, filling for him a cup of her grandmother's valuable, porcelain dinnerware she used on special occasions with mead, to the brim. Then, she started caressing his beard gently and whispering in his ear sweet nothings. At the beginning, the King of the Dwarves was reluctant to succumb to her care, but little by little he began to relax. Most of his attention had been captured by the smell of the mushroom pie that was coming out of the oven.

'What happened again?'

Like a good wife, Hvedra was keen to make him talk, to lighten the burden of his heart, and Orik with a few words narrated the appearance of the red Dragon and his Rider, as well as all the events that took place in the council hall of the Dwarves. The Grimstcarvlorss sat beside him and held his hand tenderly.

'My dear husband, do not permit such trifles to spoil your mood.'

The Dwarf swung around in his chair angrily.

'Such trifles! When everyone demands my own head, instead of our turning our attention to revenge all together ...'

'Your own head?' Unwillingly, Hvedra let escape her an innocent giggle. 'My dear Orik, you are … at least exaggerating, I would say.'

The King of the Dwarves goggled in anger.

'Exaggerating! Me, exaggerating! When this damned Dragon Rider invades my lands unmolested! As if the crimes of his past are not enough, here he comes now to add new ones!' The Dwarf struck his clenched fist on the table in anger, making the cup turn upside down, pouring half of its filling and staining the linen, embroidered tablecloth, also a trousseau from Grimstcarvlorss's grandmother who hasted to clean it with a dishcloth. Unaware of the terrible losses to his household the King of the Dwarves went on.

'Murtagh, the son of Morzan, who entered Farthen Dûr without revealing his identity, obviously trying to deceive us! Who disappeared after the battle along with those twin traitors, to reappear as an ally of that demon King!' The clenched fist rose ready to strike once again, and Hvedra pulled hastily the valuable heirloom from her grandmother's porcelain dinnerware, saving it at the very last moment. 'Who killed … the thrice cursed, our Hrothgar …' At this point the Dwarf's hand covered his face with grief, his voice shattered and Hvedra, affected with emotion, stood and touched her husband's shoulders.

'Oh, come now, my little, mischievous Shrrg, do not let things like that upset you. From now on, we must look ahead and rejoice at the fruits of peace. We must indulge in creativity and happiness.'

The woman's hands began expertly to rub the King's tense neck and shoulders, causing him to sigh in relief. Little by little, Orik started to unwind and a factor to his relaxation was the delicious smell of the half-baked mushroom pie. The King of the Dwarves threw a furtive glance towards the oven, as the smell of baking invaded his nose. Would it take long to be ready? he wondered. The massage continued for quite some time, accompanied by sweet nothings and inarticulate grunts which would cause a grown-up, male Shrrg to bleat like a harmless lamb during the mating season. And the matter would have ended here – with a very happy conjugal outcome – if the Queen had not made the following mistake.

'My sweet Shrrgy, who should no longer be disturbed with these old war stories!'

Orik sat up abruptly as if he had been head-butted by an Urgal.

'Old war stories!' His thick, braided beard bounced on his chest and from his throat there came out an angry growl. 'Hrothgar's murder by this cursed Rider, old war stories? Woman, what are you talking about? The criminal, who is the son of Morzan! Who entered Farthen Dûr without revealing his identity, obviously trying to deceive us! Who disappeared after the battle along with those twin traitors, to reappear as an ally of that demon King! Who killed Hrothgar and his cursed Dragon eats from our flocks …'

His eyes sparkled and his voice thundered as he grabbed the hilt of Volund in his fist, turning it around in the air threateningly. The Queen tried to make another tender approach to calm him.

'Oh, come, come, my jumpy, hopping Feldûnost …'

But the Dwarf pushed her aside and started again listing the crimes of the red Rider.

'… the son of Morzan … who entered Farthen Dûr trying to deceive us … who disappeared after the battle along with those twin traitors … who made alliance with that demon King … who killed Hrothgar … whose cursed Dragon eats from our flocks …'

Neither pampering nor sweet words worked anymore, and Hvedra started getting upset. Apparently, the Queen had heard the same things often, and now the indictment of the traitor Murtagh had increased with another terrible crime. Her rosy cheeks became more reddish and unconsciously she reached out and grabbed the first thing closest to her hand, her rolling pin.

'Dear husband,' she said somewhat coldly. 'One constantly returning to the hatreds and passions of the past adds nothing good to their future.'

The Dwarf turned against her infuriated.

'There is no one in Farthen Dur and in the whole world of the Dwarves who does not believe that the revenge for Hrothgar's death comes first of all. Do not talk to me then about the hatred and passions that have to be forgotten because before doing so, we have to avenge this criminal. As long as there is even one living Dwarf in this world, what matters is revenge. And you, mind your pie and watch your mouth!'

Hvedra with the rosy cheeks and the pale white calves looked at him vexed.

'Is that so?' she said, brandishing her rolling pin threateningly. 'Then let me remind you this, my dear King, Grimstborith and husband! The. War. Is. Over! Besides, the fact that you are a King now is something that you owe to the Red Rider.'

Listening to this the Dwarf King sat up abruptly, his grip tightening on the hilt of Volund.

'What are you implying, woman?'

Hvendra narrowed her eyes and crossed her hands on her enormous breasts.

'I'm not just a woman! I am your Grimstcarvlorss and your Queen!' she glared at him.

The Dwarf King flinched on his seat. He well recognized this glare she gave him. He had received a matching one during the second year of their marriage, when he had dared to forget their anniversary. Orik didn't like to remember what had followed this one first glare.

At that moment, the enticing smell of the mushroom pie captured the Queen's attention.

'Oh my! My delicious mushroom pie will be over-backed!'

Hvedra opened the oven and using her oven mitt she pulled out the mushroom pie and placed it carefully on a thick, woven platter coaster in the middle of the table.

The agreeable odour of the pie filled the entire royal kitchen and the King's nostrils moved involuntarily, sniffing towards the plate and the sweet smelling aroma.

The Queen took a step backwards and opened her hands, admiring her deeds. The sight of her cooking art seemed to calm her irritation and anger. She could not recall having ever baked a better crust on a pie. This was a unique success, even for her skills. Inwardly, Hvendra congratulated herself.

In a moment King Orik left the hilt of his Volund aside and grabbed his cutlery. But when he noticed his Queen making no movement to serve him, he frowned.

'Well?' he said indicating the mushroom pie with the tip of his knife.

Hvedra placed her hands on her hips and looked at her husband meaningfully.

'Well, what?' she asked back. 'Are you willing, my dear King, Grimstborith and husband, to let this grudge go by and focus on peace and our future?'

The King Orik looked at her astounded. He could not understand, was there any relation between the one matter and the other?

'Grudge?!' he growled, hitting with rage the cutlery on the surface of the table. 'Our revenge comes first!'

Hvedra narrowed her eyes.

'In that case …'

In a shock, Orik watched his Grimstcarvlorss grab the pie from the table in front of him, shove it into a closet, and secure the door locked with a key which she hid in her cleavage.

'Woman! What are you doing?'

She faced him; her eyes narrowed again, giving him her special glare.

'I told you, I am not just a woman! I am your Grimstcarvlorss and your Queen! And you, my King, have to pay attention to this! If you want to taste my delicious pies again, then let this grudge cease. Period!'

And speaking like that, Hvedra with her rosy cheeks and her pale white calves exited her royal kitchen, leaving him sitting alone.

Orik was left seated before the kitchen table, holding his unused cutlery, ruminating his dark thoughts for revenge against Murtagh and swallowing his bile; his nose tortured by the tantalizing scent of the prohibited, locked in the closet mushroom pie. Inside his mind he started counting again one by one the crimes of the Red Rider. He is the son of Morzan, he entered Farthen Dûr trying to deceive them, he disappeared after the battle along with those twin traitors to reappear again as an ally of that demon King, he killed Hrothgar, his cursed Dragon mangles their flocks … And his last and greatest crime … he would not let him enjoy the delicious well baked mushroom pie.

Orik was angrily biting his mustache. The Dwarf's bile would take a long time to subside. If Murtagh's absence had managed to disturb his marital serenity so much, think about what his presence could cause. Not to mention that the traitor was strolling around so southerly in Alagaësia ... so close to them...

This cursed Rider's making his appearance again was a fact contrary to the taste of the King, but it could be proved to be something good, too. Should he stay in the same place for a while, the soldiers would arrest him. But the cunning, evil creature was moving fast every day, and so far his arrest was a thing impossible to happen. Not to mention that the following idea had crossed the King's mind ... that the main reason Eragon had abandoned Alagaësia was, perhaps, not to have to kill this useless brother of his.

But no! They wouldn't find favour with him. Neither that cursed Dragon Rider and his abominable beast, nor Nado and Gannel, or his headstrong Queen! The Dwarf had better never taste a mushroom pie again.

Revenge comes first!

… … … … …

But the days passed and the locked mushroom pies which succeeded one another in the closet of the royal kitchen – the Queen looked to replenish her stock almost daily – tortured his nose and his resolve. And little by little, the King of the Dwarves began to reconsider the matter. After all his Hvedra was right, the war had been over and a Dragon Rider could occasionally be proved to be even ... useful …

… And if not in anything else, at least in terms of benefits of the conjugal pie. …

* * *

**A/N: **And where are we now? Murtagh is still angry against the Writer. Nasuada is having trouble ruling the kingdom. Eragon and Saphira find it difficult to raise the hatchlings. Arya has realised that what she is presently doing is not what she would like to do and Orik has been left pieless. And of course, the Writer is still trying to keep his heroes of Alagaësia under control.

After all, everything is a matter of control.

Murtagh is trying to gain control of his anger against the Writer. Nasuada is trying to gain control over her parliament. Eragon and Saphira are trying to gain control of the hatchlings. Arya is trying to gain control of her emotions, and Orik is trying to gain control of his pie.

And then...

* * *

A short excerpt from the upcoming chapter :

**Meeting****, Μ****atchmaking and Μ****ating**

….

_'My beloved son! I'm so delighted to welcome you back in Alagaësia!'_ The Writer's voice had never been heard so excited, happy, and thrilled in their minds; but the Rider of Saphira stood astounded by the sudden and unwelcome invasion.

'Who is this?' Eragon's hand gripped the hilt of Brisingr and was ready to unsheathe his blade, raising simultaneously all his mental barriers.

'Let it go, brother!' Murtagh's voice was calm and serious as he held Eragon's arm attentively. 'You will get used to it. He is the one who claims to be _the Writer_.'

'Beware, Rider Eragon!' Nasuada said upset, seeing the threatening movement of her past champion. 'He is the Creator, our Creator!'

Eragon's eyes opened wide. _Who?_ he mouthed, turning his astonished gaze from his brother, to Nasuada, to Arya uneasily.

'The Creator of our world' Nasuada continued regally. 'The Writer of our stories, of our adventures, of our fates ...'

'Just give me a minute to understand better,' Eragon said, considering the meaning of her statement. 'You mean that _he_ is the one who sent the Ra'zac in Palancar valley to burn our farm and kill my uncle?'

….

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Thanks for reading.


	6. Meeting, Μatchmaking and Μating

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inheritance, let alone the Writer.

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**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community.**

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_'__Achoo! Oh, Arya, if she bites my tail again … I don't know what to do. I have no intention of … Achoo! … Achoo! …'_

**6. Meeting****, ****Μ****atchmaking and ****Μ****ating**

Arya watched in amazement as Saphira came closer … and closer … after Fírnen had started his nonstop sneezing again. Magnificent, enormous wings hovered overhead for a while and then the great Dragoness landed with Eragon Shadeslayer on her back. There, at the top of the Crags of Tel'naeír, they stood speechless, facing each other. How long had it been since the last moment they had shared together? Since the last moment they have stared in each other's eyes? Finally, Eragon was the one who ended their silence.

'Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttning.' His voice expressed his respect for her, but his eyes betrayed the hidden love that had tortured his heart for so long. However, he only dared do the standard, formal bow. At the end of their last meeting, they had been separated under different circumstances ... but since then it had been a long time and Eragon had not forgotten the rejection he had always experienced from her during the first three books. He had better keep a formal attitude and who knew ... she might make the first step.

'Atra du evarínya ono varda, Eragon Shur'tugal.' Arya answered tending him her slender hand in a friendly manner – a good sign for certain since she never used to do it. 'Eragon Rider!'

Their two palms, marked with the gedwëy ignasia, joined in a soft touch. Eragon's heart was beating fast as she lingered her hand in his own.

'Rider!' He responded after a little thought. After all, she was not only the Queen of the Elves, but a Dragon Rider too.

'Rider …' Arya repeated, feeling a strange tingling in her fingers caused by their contact.

'Rider …' he mumbled.

Arya was ready to repeat the greeting – after all this was a good excuse to maintain their immediate proximity – when an abrupt jog from Fírnen's snout made her stumble forward. Eragon supported her, of course, and as their eyes locked seeing into each other's souls, they finally joined in a tight and longing embrace.

Saphira folded her giant wings and pacing heavily on the grass of the plateau she approached Fírnen who had remained at the edge of the cliff, looking at her carefully. The Dragoness had grown bigger in size since the last time they had met. She had grown fatter, her tail had lengthened and the spikes on her back glinted thicker under the morning light.

'Achoo!' The young Dragon pulled his tail out of the brink, keeping it out of her reach, while his nose was being tortured by another case of sneezing, coming in an unexpected torrent and at a high velocity. 'Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!'

The great Dragoness touched her snout on his own, sending him comforting images of the little hatchlings that had already hatched and were growing in the land of the free Dragons. Images of young hatchlings flapping their wings happily and strolling around her feet passed through her mind to the young Dragon's, along with her maternal love and protective feelings for them all. Fírnen stretched his ears stunned, feeling dozens of small talons scraping the scales of his tail, trying to climb up it and – despite the sensitivity he endured about the tail issues – his joy was so great that he snorted, overcoming his constant sneezing and forgetting about his allergy for a while.

_'__How are you, little one?'_ asked Saphira.

'Snort!' Fírnen snorted, '_Welcome__, __Goodmother__! I am quite well, thank you.'_he answered, redefining their relationship on a new basis.

Finally, the long-desired hug came to an end. Arya withdrew straightening her tunic and Eragon cleared his throat coughing.

'Arya, Fírnen,' the first one of the new generation of the Dragon Riders finally said smiling, 'we have a great surprise for you.'

He headed towards Saphira's saddle and untied a basket fastened on his saddlebags, placing it in front of their feet, on the grass. It was just a common wicker picnic basket– which Eragon had taken with him to carry his foodstuff for the road – covered with a chequered tablecloth. Fírnen tended his snout towards it and – minding not to start again the same, excruciating sneezing – his nostrils began to pulsate with caution. Unconsciously, Arya participated with her own nostrils in the same pulsating movement.

_'…__A snack of bread and cheese …'_

'Squeak!'

_'__Squeak?'_Arya and Fírnen looked at each other in bewilderment.

At the next moment, slim, white talons appeared pushing aside the tablecloth and a green, little head threw back the lid abruptly.

'Squeak!'

Green, thin membranes of a pair of wings fluttered joyfully and a small hatchling hopped out onto the fresh, green grass of the ancient Crags of Tel'naeír.

'Arya, Fírnen, let me introduce this hatchling to you. She has not chosen her name yet, but I usually call her 'hairdresser' because lately she has wont to a … very annoying habit' Eragon said and bending over, he patted the little head proudly.

...

_… __It was already the first day__'__s __afternoon of his long journey on Saphira's back, when Eragon had got hungry. Fumbl__ing through his basket __in order to snack with bread and cheese, he got his finger pricked by a small nail. _

_'__Ah, what the heck!' Shadeslayer had cursed. 'Sloppy workmanship these days ...' _

_He had opened the lid carefully and only then had he found out this little hatchling ensconced on the packaged foodstuff. _ _Apparently, she could not live without him and after hearing about his journey she had hidden herself in the picnic basket with the supplies for the road. _

_'Saphira, I think we have a stowaway with us ...' Eragon had heartily laughed and he had held the hatchling that had very quickly fallen asleep in his arms, while they were flying over the vast Elven forests._

...

Fírnen approached the tiny Dragoness, sniffing her persistently with his snout.

_'__Woooow__!'_ She had caused him such a surprise that he had been left with extended nostrils to sniff again and again the tiny head.

'Well, won't you greet her?' Eragon asked him.

_'__Woooow!' _

Arya touched her hand on her chest bowing respectfully to the little creature who danced joyously, sending in her mind feelings of love.

'I am honoured to meet you, young Skulblaka!' she whispered in the ancient tongue. Then, she turned her beautiful, green eyes toward Fírnen, puzzled with the tangled emotions popping into his mind. Excited, but also dazed he had remained motionless and speechless other than this constant ...

_'Woooow!'_

_'__Fírnen__?'_ Arya scratched the soft scales under his snout tenderly, sending reassuring thoughts and feelings to alleviate his confusion. _'I think you like her,'_ said the Queen of the Elves. _'Why don't you let her know?'_ Then, she turned to greet Saphira properly.

'_Oh! I like her! I like her a lot!__' _Fírnen thawed from his prior numbed attitude. _'__She is young__! __She is __gre__en__! '_He started jumping joyfully around the little 'hairdresser' who also flapped her wings cheerfully. _'__Oh, Arya, look at her, look at her! She is so green, she is so young, I like her.' _The great Dragon made clumsy rounds around the small one and Fírnen was very cautious not to trample on her accidentally. _'She's all green! It's all greeeeeeen! ' _

When all the greetings were over, Eragon turned to the Queen of the Elves.

'Arya ...'

'Eragon …'

'Arya …'

'Eragon!' The Queen straightened her posture proudly. 'For long have we planned to travel to meet you. And now you have come to us. So, may we ask you: what is the purpose of your return?'

Eragon nodded politely.

'We intend to visit Alagaësia to search ... to visit all the kingdoms, the royalty and ...'

'In that case, we will accompany you!' Arya interrupted him. For such a long time had she tried hard to deal with the endless cases of the Elves; with the fact that her Dragon could not fit through the narrow streets and among the thick trees ... with politely given innuendo whenever she flew away with him ... with long hours spent in the throne room and strange allergies because of feathery capes ... with Menoa trees and abandoned babies. All these things had tired her. But she had to return for a while ...

'The hour of our return to Ellesméra has come,' the Queen sighed.

She distracted Fírnen from his new acquaintance with difficulty to climb on her saddle and lead him to the edge of the cliff, where the Dragon used to launch himself whenever they returned to the elven capital. She noticed Eragon holding the little Dragoness and ready to climb on Saphira's back and turned at him angrily.

'You! You had better stay here! Do not dare follow us to Ellesméra.'

Her anger left Eragon astounded, but he bowed to her obediently.

'As you wish, Arya Dröttning. We shall wait for you here.' And he sat by Saphira's leg bewildered.

Arya softened the tone of her voice.

'We will not be late. We will collect a few clothes and supplies and we will be back soon.

… … … … …

At a brisk pace the Queen crossed the corridors towards the throne room of the Tialdarí Hall. In her presence all of the elves bowed politely, bringing their fingers on their lips and repeating the stereotyped greeting.

As soon as the Queen sat on her throne, Lord Däthedr presented himself to her.

'Atra esterní ono thel …'

'Enough said!' the Queen stopped him with an intense air. 'Where is the child found under the Menoa Tree? Let her be presented immediately and let all my nobles and loyal subjects come in front of me' she ordered.

And indeed, so it happened. The elf woman tasked to take care of the baby – the very same eccentric singer who had found her under the tree, and had in mind to raise the little one with songs and poems of the human culture to strengthen ties between the two races later – holding Linnëa's baby-daughter in her arms, was the first one who appeared and a whole sequence of elves followed, who had not ceased admiring each and every one of the baby's qualities.

As the lords of the elves were gathering in the throne room and were silently taking their seats, the Queen asked to hold the baby for a while and the nanny cautiously trusted the little one in her hands. Bright, green eyes focused on her own and the baby looked at her with a stare full of curiosity, filling her soul with emotions and putting ideas into her head for the future. How sweet the baby was, smiling at her like that – with this familiar smile – and tending plump hands to her face! Arya tenderly stroked the fluff on the baby's head and touched her lips on the baby's brow. Then, she handed the little elfin to her nanny, called the woman by her side and turned to all the attendees with a royal posture.

'I have decided! I've chosen this child as my successor, to be your future Queen. Her name will be Dryas and until she comes of age, Lord Däthedr will act as her regent. I am going to join the Dragon Riders, which is my destiny. Greet your future Queen!' And with a steady, fast pace Arya exited the throne room before anyone said anything, leaving them stunned.

The elves were well known for their formalities, as well as for their attribute to hide their true feelings. So, Lord Däthedr recovering his composure quickly – after all, as the situation had turned out, it was to his interest – he stated officially:

'The Queen is gone! Long live the Queen!'

'LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!' all the elves repeated before they began their long, endless greetings and paying their respects.

'Wyrda!'

… … … … …

Leaning over the trough formed by the bed of a small tributary of Âz Ragni, Murtagh scrubbed his dirty undershirt to clean it. Every moment he spent in acts such as laundry, he could not help but think that if he used his magic he would finish the task much more quickly and with a better result; but what is the benefit of the minor effort? Doing everything using magic prevented most of the fun one could have when using hands. Otherwise, one would constantly have the impression that they live in a world of virtual reality, an absolute boring thing. And Murtagh liked to use his hands. When there is nothing else for a man to do, using his hands is the best way to spend his time; either grabbing the hilt of his sword, or doing his laundry. And since it was a long period of peace, which did not necessitate his grabbing the hilt of his sword every now and then, and the pastimes left to him were just a few, he scrubbed his undershirt to clean it.

For a moment, his mind was captured by a corresponding female garment from a certain royal laundry, which he wouldn't refuse to scrub with his own. His imagination went so far as to display in front of his eyes even the shirt containts' depiction.

Inspired by this vision, he used all the strength of his hands to wring the wet cloth counter-clockwise – he had noticed long ago that counter-clockwise he could wring the clothes better than clockwise – when Thorn's voice sounded in his mind. The great Dragon had landed behind him for some time now, but absorbed as he had been with the particular undershirt of the royal laundry, he had paid him no attention.

_'__Let me introduce you to my fiancée, Murtagh,__'_ Thorn stated momentously. _'When she comes of age, we will mate.'_

A barking laughter escaped the Rider's chest.

_'__What are you talking about, Thorn? You cannot mate with … this!' _

The Dragon seemed a bit offended; nevertheless, he continued.

_'__Oh, I know she is still very young, very small and delicate. But eventually she will grow older and bigger.' _

_'__Thorn! She is never going to be any bigger__! Additionally, she is a bird.'_The Rider stood and approached the aspiring couple.

_'__I do not mind our differences. We are both ready to put them aside,_' the Dragon stated._ ' After all, nobody is perfect. All of us have our weaknesses__, __you know! When she grows bigger …' _

'She is but a sparrow! Sparrows never grow bigger!' his Rider exploded.

Thorn made a movement similar to a human's shrugging.

_'__Oh, well, at least do not spoil this to me now, and let me imagine it.' _

The Dragon gave the sparrow an affectionate glance, making his Rider sigh.

'And what do you want of me now?' The Rider's voice sounded irritated. 'To be your best man?'

The sparrow looked at the Rider and danced onto the Dragon's shoulder chirping happily.

'Congratulations, Madame' said Murtagh bowing slightly to the sparrow.

'Chirp!'

The Great Dragon with the small sparrow on his shoulder moved to the pond where Thorn usually lay down basking in the sunshine, continuing their optimistic plans for a happy married future and the Rider returned to his laundry. He had picked his underpants from the small pile, when his keen senses detected ...

… Yes … he could not be wrong. The air around him vibrated, bringing the smell of pine needles of an elven forest, sour milk from a northern farm and ... familiar intellects.

With his Dragon Rider's enhanced hearing, he could already hear the sound of the giant wings tearing the air at a great distance, but ... they were coming closer ... and closer ...

'Thorn!' Murtagh barked and abandoning his underpants to soak in the trough, he grabbed the hilt of Zar'roc unsheathing its blade. In this world, he could never feel secure. This is what his long experience had taught him, so far.

In a moment, the Dragon abandoning his courtships secured his fiancée on the tall branch of a nearby tree and stood by his chosen one's side. In a while, Dragon and Rider witnessed a unique spectacle. The two great Dragons, the one blue as the sky on a clear day and the other green as the grass of the bank of Âz Ragni at the beginning of the spring, circled once, twice, three times above them and they finally landed nearby, causing such a thud that made the earth tremble. From their backs descended his two familiar intellects, Eragon and Arya.

_..._

_They had met again on the __Crags of Tel'naeír and they had flown together for hours over the wide forests that spread like a thick, green carpet beneath. __Choosing the route to the sout__h – the one that would lead them to the Dwarven lands in the first place – they watched the calm waters of Gaena and Edda River coil like silver snakes among the endless green, heading towards Ceris and exiting the Elven lands. They had spent the long hours of their flight with __pleasant and constructive intellectual discussion … _

_'__Eragon__ …' _

_'__Arya__ …' _

_'__What news, little one?'_

_'__Not my tail__ …'_

_'__Squeak__!' _

_'__Woooow__ …'_

_Having already spent their first night on the wings of the Dragons, they decided to stop and camp the second one, and grant their brave companions the rest they deserved. Soon, the two Dragons flew from the one bank of Âz Ragni to land there, at dusk. The night hours had been spent pleasantly, with sharing images from Eragon's land – the homeland of the free Dragons__, __as he had named it__ – __exchanging viewpoints and feelings and a slight crowding around the campfire. _

_'This fire does not produce enough heat ...' _

_'Come a little closer to me then ...'_

_'I thought you would say 'Brisingr' ...' _

_'__Get your tail out of my feet …' _

_'__Achoo__!' _

_'__Squeak__!' _

_'__Woooow!'_

_The next one was a magnificent, sunny morning and during the flight towards the Beor Mountains, both Dragon Riders had let their consciences free, wandering around, enjoying the contact with every creature in heaven and on earth, when ... _

_'__Dragon!' Saphira had let her tongue hang out of her muzzle, smelling tendrils of musky scent in the air. _

_'__Rider__!' __Eragon had __tensed on the saddle__. '__There is only one Dragon and Rider in the whole of Alagaësia' he had said__. '__That means__, __my brother is somewhere near__.'_

_..._

Arya and Eragon approached and for a few moments all three – or rather, all six – stood baffled, facing one another. Finally, Arya was the one who broke the silence.

'Rider!' The ex-Queen inclined her head.

Murtagh was left stunned, looking at the product of the green egg's hatching and her Rider.

'Rider!' He bowed to her, as the greetings went on.

'Rider!' Arya repeated the courtesy.

'Rider!' Eragon was delighted to see his brother again.

'Rider!' Murtagh was not so sure how to interact with him.

'Rid …'

_'__Enough__!' _Saphira exploded. _'Let's finish this 'Rider business' and embrace one another.' _

And they did, leaving the formalities aside. And it was so nice when the ice had broken …

After touching their muzzles and roaring their jubilant cries the Dragons let huge jets of flames spring up in the air, to celebrate their reunion. All three Riders, elated, lowered their mental barriers – Murtagh more hesitantly than the other two – and shared joyous feelings as well as images from the Dragons' land. And all the exultation and rapture would have continued in the same way, if not ...

_... pah-pa-rah ... _

The ceremonial sound of a trumpet resounded in their ears along with the sound of galloping horses approaching rapidly; a thing they would have noticed sooner if they had not been engrossed in this unique meeting.

'The Dwarves!' Murtagh yelled out and unsheathed Zar'roc ready to defend his Dragon and himself.

'We are out of their territory' Eragon started saying, 'but the Dwarves …'

But they were not. One after the other the horsemen appeared, coming from the curve of Âz Ragni's tributary at a vigorous trot; and in the middle of her iron-clad guards, dressed in her royal garments and riding her war-steed, was Alagaësia's High Queen, Nasuada. The guards were deployed facing each other, forming a long corridor between them; the Queen dismounted and, accompanied by her Nighthawks, approached the small group with a regal air.

'My dear Riders and Dragons,' the Queen, wearing the sweetest of smiles, turned her warm gaze at everyone. 'My informants spoke of one Dragon and Rider, but here I find three!'

Zar'roc was sheathed again, to continue its long, peaceful rest.

'Blessed is the hour we meet again Arya and Fírnen, Eragon and Saphira, Murtagh and Thorn …'

'Squeak!'

'… and green unbounded hatchling!' the High Queen went on. 'As soon as …'

'Chirp!'

The sparrow hurriedly sat back on Thorn's shoulder and from there she watched the Queen with small, beady eyes.

_'__My beloved son!'_ The familiar voice resounded through all their minds causing a mental turmoil to everyone. Others freaked, others tensed, others whinnied and others squeaked or chirped.

_'__My beloved son! I'm so delighted to welcome you back in Alagaësia!'_ The Writer's voice had never been heard so excited, happy, and thrilled in their minds; but the Rider of Saphira stood astounded by the sudden and unwelcome invasion.

'Who is this?' Eragon's hand gripped the hilt of Brisingr and was ready to unsheathe his blade, raising simultaneously all his mental barriers.

'Let it go, brother!' Murtagh's voice was calm and serious as he held Eragon's arm attentively. 'You will get used to it. He is the one who claims to be _the Writer_.'

'Beware, Rider Eragon!' Nasuada said upset, seeing the threatening movement of her past champion. 'He is the Creator, our Creator!'

Eragon's eyes opened wide. _Who?_ he mouthed, turning his astonished gaze from his brother, to Nasuada, to Arya uneasily.

'The Creator of our world' Nasuada continued regally. 'The Writer of our stories, of our adventures, of our fates ...'

'Just give me a minute to understand better,' Eragon said, considering the meaning of her statement. 'You mean that _he_ is the one who sent the Ra'zac in Palancar valley to burn our farm and kill my uncle?'

_'__No, no!'_ the Writer hastened. '_This was the King's decision!'_

'Do not believe him, brother,' intervened Murtagh with a venomous tone in his voice. 'Whenever something does not accord his interests, he accuses the old King about it.'

'Are you the one who led the Ra'zac's hand kill Brom?' Eragon narrowed his eyes and unsheathed his blade.

'Beware Rider …' Nasuada made another attempt to reconcile things. 'Eragon, he is The Creator!'

But he, influenced by Murtagh's words as well as a continuous hoarse growl that – very curiously – was coming out of Arya's throat, continued impetuously.

'Are you the one who decided that Arya should reject me for so many times after I saved her in Gil'ead –who has ever heard of a princess despise her saviour? – and that she wouldn't accompany me in my travels outside Alagaësia to help me raise the Dragons and the new generation of the Dragon Riders?'

_'__My beloved son__ …'_

'Well, are you?!'

Eragon's anger grew increasingly out of control and with each question his voice sounded louder in everyone's ears and mind. The Writer's feeble efforts to defend his work were not enough to persuade the first one of the Dragon Riders. Once Eragon realised that this was exactly what had happened, he raised his blade abruptly and with his usual cry ...

'Brisiiiiiiiiiingr!'

… he launched such a massive jet of fire into the sky that every Dragon would be jealous of.

_'__Er … I must be excused, I'm keeping a meeting with my publisher …'_ The strange, talking entity who was claiming to be the Writer in everyone's mind immediately disappeared, causing sighs of relief from Arya's and Murtagh's lips.

'Oh my,' Nasuada touched her brow with her fingertips. 'I do not usually do it, but I think I'm going to faint …' she said, upset.

As Murtagh was the nearest to the Queen, he offered his arm to her support.

'Here, my Queen.'

Soon the High Queen regained her regal posture and addressed the Riders again regally.

'My dear Queen of the Elves …'

'I am not the Queen anymore' Arya stated. 'I am a Dragon Rider, following Eragon as a helper and supporter to his task.'

If there was one thing Nasuada had been practiced to since childhood as a politician, it was to retain her composure. So, avoiding the spontaneous exclamation that had staged on her lips …

_... hwæt!? ..._

… she turned toward the Rider of the blue Dragoness.

'To what do we owe the great pleasure to welcome you back, Eragon and Saphira?'

Her former champion took a step forward.

'We are here in search of Murtagh and Thorn. We need their presence in the land of the free Dragons. They must come with us.'

Listening to Eragon's words Murtagh frowned.

'And why should we do such a thing?'

Eragon Shadeslayer turned towards his brother.

'Brother, for so long you have been doing absolutely nothing, just sitting under shadowy trees, eating juicy apples, reading old scrolls of poems and enjoying your time! While I …'

_'__We deserve our laziness__' _Thorn's melodious voice interfered in the conversation._' __We have endured so many hardships in the hands of the late Evil King__, __so much hard training, so much evil magic, so many lost battles. It seems to me that we have been born tired and that we will use the rest of our long lives to rest.'_

Hearing such a statement Eragon protested.

'Brother, you cannot live in laziness for so many years! You have to try to do something. Try to be useful!'

Murtagh gave him a cautious look.

'Useful to whom?'

'Murtagh and Thorn,' Nasuada intervened. 'Hear my offer before you decide. I think I have the proper work for your skills, which is to preside to my parliament! A very easy task for you two. You, Murtagh, will give occasionally a glare and you, Thorn, just a little growl from time to time. Other than this, you will be free to do whatever you want, to go wherever you like and ... '

'No, no, no!' Eragon interrupted her. 'Brother, do not agree to this. I need you to raise the hatchlings and rebuilt the Riders.'

Murtagh turned to Eragon astounded.

'You need us? You think you cannot do it on your own?'

Saphira howled angrily for the insult, but at the same time warningly preventing Eragon's possible response to this. It was too much for her chosen one to admit that they both needed help in their great task. Especially now that Arya and Fírnen had come to their aid, would be by their side ...

Eragon considered carefully before answering. Long ago, he had boasted to Nasuada that he was the most powerful man in the world, thus the most dangerous. But now, he knew better. The voluntary isolation, the loneliness and three dozen of hatchlings had brought back in his soul the first innocence of his youth.

'Then, I will suggest the following' he told Murtagh, at a quieter tone now. 'A fairth of yours and Thorn's will preside over the Queen's parliament and you will come with us.' The Shadeslayer, noticing the glare which Nasuada threw at him – the High Queen had her own plans for the Rider of the red Dragon, and using a fairth was not one of them – hastened to prevent her comment with the following words. 'Of course, you will be attending yourselves, too, occasionally.'

Murtagh and Thorn considered for a while. Both proposals were more than tempting, and the truth was that they had grown tired of sitting idle, for all this time. But the Dragon Rider preferred to stay somewhere close to Alagaësia; and if possible, even closer to Alagaësia's Queen; a thing that he stated indirectly, but very clearly in his dear half-brother's mind. The temptation of the particular royal laundry, would not allow him to leave Alagaësia for long. And the glances he threw at the Queen for some time now, spoke quite clearly about his intentions.

'Let us not panic' Nasuada stated, still leaning on Murtagh's arm. 'For every problem, there is an appropriate solution. Let us travel back to Iliria all together, where you will be my guests, and there, we will have sufficient time to discuss our affairs.'

Meanwhile, the dragons came closer to one another, exchanging dragon greetings and dragon pleasantries. Thorm rubbed his snout on Saphira's shoulder. They had fought against each other in the past, due to the late King's evil, but they had come to a close, constructive cooperation in the end, in Shrukin's case. The red Dragon was very content to have the opportunity to see her again and talk with her as much as he liked, and away from a sea of nettles – which could possibly cause itching to the most sensitive parts of his body. A specific, expert growl – that only a dragon would understand its innuendo – escaped spontaneously from the depths of his throat and, maybe, it would find the correct response from her part.

Then, he turned to young Fírnen. Thorn was fascinated with his acquaintance. As they sniffed each other, he could not help but think that it would be nice to sit together in a clean corner of the dragon-hold during the evenings, to share a raw piece of meat and for the old veteran to describe to the newbie the harsh battles he had survived!

The green hatchling made a good impression on Thorn and Murtagh too, with her crazy pleasantries. Additionally, Fírnen's great interest for the little Dragoness instantaneously passed between the two males. The young Dragon had readied himself to wait for the green hatchling to grow to physical maturity, and then, be his nest mate.

Thorn's joy was double, as Saphira was nowadays free and he could hope for her affections. He was free to proceed then and who knows? ... maybe she would respond too.

_'__Attention!'_ Fírnen warned. _'I do not usually go tattling about Ladies, but this one likes biting tails.' _

_'__Well, I wouldn't say no,' _Thorn answered. _'Actually, I would gladly offer my tail for her to bite.' _

_'__Oh Thorn'_, Murtagh commented his Dragon's statement. _'__I think that you really like her!'_

_'I do, my Rider! But first, I need to dispel my engagement with my betrothed one'_ Thorn sighed, looking at the sparrow. For some time now, he had been watching with a great joy the Dragoness' sour glares against his fiancée, ready to make her a small, feathery bite.

_'Oh, I'm sure she will understand'_ Murtagh assured him smirking.

As the hour of departure had come, Murtagh accompanied the Queen and helped her mount her war-horse. Nasuada, the High Queen of Alagaësia, clapped her hands and shouted.

'Everybody back to Iliria!'

_… __pah__-__pa__-__rah__ …!__! _

… … … … …

* * *

A short excerpt from the upcoming chapter :

... ... ... ... ...

**A Paradise for Fallen Angels. **

Suddenly, the liquid in the basin started to swirl; silver, red and dark flashes emerged from within.

'Brother, are you ready?' Murtagh reached out and Eragon grabbed his hand without hesitation.

_... Arya ..._

The older brother plunged his palm with the gedwëy ignasia in the liquid and suddenly, as if something were pulling him from within, his hand disappeared up to his shoulder.

'Here we _goooo_ …'

Murtagh's voice was lost along with his body in the dark, menacing fluids. The hand, holding that of Eragon, drew him inside. The only thing the first one of the new generation of the Dragon Riders had the time to do was to cast a last glance at Saphira ...

_...Little one ...!_

... before he also disappear completely inside the basin.

'It is _burniiiiiiii__in__g_!'

... ... ... ... ...

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**A/N :** Thanks for reading.


	7. A Paradise for Fallen Angels

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inheritance, let alone the Writer.

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**A/N :** This story … oops … parody, is dedicated to **lioness94** and the **Fixing Inheritance community.**

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**7. A Paradise for Fallen Angels. **

'Brother, are you sure he can help us?'

Murtagh stood still, looking at the unmoving liquid in the basin placed in front of them.

'No' he answered gloomily, 'but I know he had studied a lot of things. As a matter of fact, he could be considered a moving encyclopaedia. If there is anyone who knows anything about it and is able to advise us, then surely it is he.'

'Then, are we ready to start?'

'I disagree!' Arya said, her shrill and rasping voice coming out scratching her throat.

_'__I agree with her in that I disagree'_ Saphira intervened in Eragon's mind, her comment meant only for him. _'Is it necessary for you to accompany him? Let him go alone!'_

_'__No Saphira! We are all together in this. I do not leave him alone.'_

_'__At least, let me come with you, little one.'_

Eragon was ready to repeat the same argument that he kept telling her for so many hours once more, when his brother interrupted him.

'We are going to walk on dark paths without knowing what we will meet there. Arya, Eragon is right' reassured Murtagh, in a soothing voice.

...

_At the beginning, all their concerns paled in comparison to the fact that, finally, they were all together; and together they considered and examined how to solve this problem. This togetherness was the most important thing to them as they were members of the same caste with common interests, expectations, responsibilities. _

_All the previous days had been spent either in the big library of the castle or in Iliria's Dragon-hold, seeking the solution __to this problem__. The research on the ancient wild dragons' upbringing, unsurprisingly, had led them nowhere. The Dragon Riders of old had left behind scrolls about the upbringing of their bounded hatchlings; the unbounded had been raised by either their parents, or some other members of their race. And although Saphira possessed a wonderful instinct for her flights and battles – no one could surpass her on the wing – as well as a tender maternal bond with the hatchlings, and even though Thorn and Fírnen had the will to help, they all were bounded Dragons and none of them was able to cope with such a challenge, at least not without help. And while Eragon was in a hurry to return to the land of Eldunarí and the hatchlings, __Murtagh had already taken his office in Nasuada's parliament – all the morning meetings were going well, fully in line with the program and without any complaint. Eventually, a decision had to be taken. _

_'__The Dragon Riders of old had no available unbounded Dragons whom to observe closely, that's why they never mention them in their scrolls. Let's admit our lack of knowledge and seek elsewhere for the solution to our problem.' _

_Murtagh craved for the end of the research in the library, the sooner the better. The High Queen used to spend her free time __analyzing for him her future plans on strengthening the relationship between __the __various races – the Dragon Riders included – and his presence here deprived her of his companionship, a thing that caused him a slight dejection. _

_Eragon chewed on the inside of his mouth. Not only during the last few days, but for quite a long time had he remembered this old, bad habit. _

_'Like where else?' _

_Murtagh scratched his chin for several minutes skeptically, long enough to feel the stubble grow underneath. _

_'__Well' he said hesitantly, 'I think that there is only one who could help us in this predicament.'_

_'__Who?' Eragon asked, shiny eyes full of hope fixed on his brother. _

_'__The King!'_

_'__The King? Orrin?' _

_'__No, not him.'_

_'__Orik? I should have known.' Eragon had used Nasuada's mirror to communicate with his adopted brother and the fact that the King of the Dwarves __was constantly repeating unintelligible words about Murtagh combined with some kind of pie, had left him puzzled. _

_Murtagh shook his head. _

_'__Then, who? __Nasuada's future husband?'_

_For this last comment__, __Eragon gained a venomous glare from his brother. _

_'__What I mean is _The King_!' Murtagh stated annoyed. _

_Eragon bit his lips. _

_'__Oh__ … _him_ …' _

_'Perhaps it would be worthwhile trying to contact him, but ... '_

_'__But__?' __Eragon hung on the lips of his brother__. Leaving the land of the Free Dragons he had promised himself that he would return with a solution. Anything that could get him out of this crisis and turn him back as a winner and along with Arya, would be desirable. _

_'But I am not so sure ...' Murtagh seemed to retract. _

_'__Do you know a way to communicate with him?' If there was such a way and his brother knew about it, they had nothing to lose if they tried it. _

_'__He had taught me some things about the dark arts of magic and__ …' __Murtagh shive__r__ed. _

_'__Can you do it brother__?' _

_'__Well__ …'_

_'__Can you do it__?'_

_'__I__'__m not so sure if we should …'_

_'__Can you do it?' Eragon asked irritated. _

_'__As a matter of fact … I … maybe …'_

_'__CAN YOU DO IT?' Eragon growled. _

_'__All right, all right, okay, don't get upset. I'll give it a try.' _

_..._

This conversation had brought the three – or rather the six – of them around this water basin in Iliria's Dragon-hold.

'I insist!' Arya insisted. 'I used to be the one who carried Saphira's egg for years; I used to live in danger every moment of my life; I have been captured, tortured and have fought along with the Varden in every battle. I am not like your own weak females; so, why do you go on believing that in this way you protect me? I will come with you, period!'

The ex-queen of the Elves' eyes flashed and Eragon dared not demur, but he went on chewing the inner surface of his right cheek, tasting his own blood. It was Murtagh who, finally, touched her sleeve with the tips of his fingers reassuringly.

'We will visit the unknown, dark lands of the netherworld and we do not know what we will face there. Arya, Eragon is right! We need you to stay here with the Dragons, so that if necessary, you will be able to bring us back.'

Arya pursed her lips in disapproval. This argument was impossible to contradict, but she was absolutely displeased with the development of the situation.

'Do we start?' Eragon was in a hurry. He opened a pouch hanging from his belt and arranged the materials, painstakingly collected, to be used for the magic.

'I warn you that this is about the most powerful necromancy; something very dangerous, and during the entire process you must be very careful. Or else, there is always the fear of our becoming Shades.'

Murtagh took the first component very carefully.

_'… __e__ye of a newt and leg of a fr__o__g …'_

_'… __wool from a bat and tongue of a dog …'_

The Rider of the red Dragon started to throw the magical ingredients into the basin one after the other …

_'…__teardrop of a snake and hoof of a hog …'_

_'…_ _wing from __a __bee and soil __of __a bog …'_

… while the others watched with wide open eyes.

_'… __cackle __of __a hen and sole of a clog …'_

_'… __noxious fumes and soot from the smo__g …'_

In a while, all the materials were added and the three dragons began to breathe fires, making the liquid come to a boil.

'I think it is ready.' Murtagh stretched out his hands, stopping the flow of the fire and approached the basin. 'And now, the magical words' he stated in a highly erudite style.

Eragon held Arya's hand and they back-stepped a few steps together. Murtagh stood alone in front of the basin containing the dark liquid. He crossed his hands on his chest and concentrated.

_'… __Skip__! …'_

'Can we skip the magical words?' Eragon asked naively, but Murtagh concentrated as he had been, paid him no attention.

'Hush! Eragon!'

_'… __Skip! … __S__kip! …'_

Murtagh made a little jump to his right, and then another. Arya, Eragon and the Dragons watched with rising curiosity. A shiver ran down Eragon's spine, as the dark, strong magic started vibrating the room.

_'__Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,_

_Skip to my Lou, my darling …'_

The magical words and Murtagh's movements seemed unintelligible to Eragon who felt sorry for what his brother had to do. The dark, terrible magic of the Evil one and the fear had dried his mouth. By his side, Arya tensed.

_'__There's a little red wagon, Paint it blue_

_Lou, Lou skip to my Lou!_

_Skip to my Lou, my darling …'_

Murtagh moved even further to the right and the nonsensical words started reverberating in Eragon's mind. Red and blue … blue and red … Suddenly the red Rider started jumping up and down around the basin, shaking his hands like a crazy man.

'Brother …'

_'__Flies in the buttermilk … Shoo fly s__h__oo!'_

'Brother, what are you doing?' Eragon asked in astonishment. He could not believe his eyes.

'Do. Not. Interrupt. Brother!' Murtagh scolded him through clenched teeth. 'This is the King's darkest magic! You don't know how dangerous it could be!'

Eragon cringed and waited in silence.

_'__Lou, Lou skip to my Lou!_

_Skip to my Lou, my darling.'_

Suddenly, the liquid in the basin started to swirl; silver, red and dark flashes emerged from within.

'Brother, are you ready?' Murtagh reached out and Eragon grabbed his hand without hesitation.

_... Arya ..._

The older brother plunged his palm with the gedwëy ignasia in the liquid and suddenly, as if something were pulling him from within, his hand disappeared up to his shoulder.

'Here we _goooo_ …'

Murtagh's voice was lost along with his body in the dark, menacing fluids. The hand, holding that of Eragon, drew him inside. The only thing the first one of the new generation of the Dragon Riders had the time to do was to cast a last glance at Saphira ...

_...Little one ...!_

... before he also disappear completely inside the basin.

'It is _burniiiiiiii__in__g_!'

… … … … …

They found themselves floating in the void with silver, red and dark flashes around them. And sometimes they had the impression that they flew upwards and some others that they fell into unthinkable depths. Finally, they ended in a state of free fall, equal to the acceleration of gravity.

Bringing their knees near their chests and holding them tightly they managed to bend their bodies like two balls, so that finally, they rolled for a few rounds onto something soft … and green …

_… __Fírnen? __…_

_… __This is soft, Eragon …_

Murtagh stood immediately with Zar'roc at hand. Empty, vast fields covered with tall green grass that reached up to their knees was the only thing they could see around them. On the sky above they could spot one or two small clouds, staining the endless blue, and the sun shone pleasantly warm. Neither trees nor houses or any other human activity captured their gaze, but a few yellow flowers here and there.

'Where are we?'

'I admit that I expected this place somewhat different.' Zar'roc was sheathed again.

They walked for hours and hours, trying and finding it difficult to follow the sun's path in the sky. Normally, it should be on its zenith by now, but it appeared to be in the same position constantly.

'I wonder, what time is it?'

Murtagh readied himself to calculate the hour, using his hands and the position of the sun, when Eragon stripped his right wrist ostentatiously, he repeated two words …

'Swatch! Swatch!'

… and suddenly, a small, round plate he wore there shone with some strange luminous figures. Murtagh freaked out and involuntarily he half-unsheathed Zar'roc.

'What?' Eragon's voice was heard annoyed. All the previous time he had been in a state of ill-concealed irritation because of his thirst. 'Sheath your blade again, brother! It gets on my nerves when you draw your sword, every now and then. Additionally, you have to understand that we are not all as lucky as you have been. When you were kept in Urû'baen's castle having various scholars teach you how to use your hands and the sun's position to calculate the hour, I had to learn how to plow, milk the cow, mend torn socks and sew missing buttons.'

Murtagh sighed and unclenched his grip on Zar'roc's hilt. To his questioning glance, Eragon answered with a shrug.

'No girl at home.' Then, he focused on reading the magical symbols on his wrist. 'We are exactly: 43° 17' 03'' N and: 5° 22' 16'' E. And the time is … the same as when we left Iliria. Brother, time doesn't seem to pass here, it just is; that's why the sun doesn't move.'

Murtagh peeked at the shining, round plate growling angrily for his ignorance about this kind of magic. He was ready to make a bitter statement on the Elven secrets, when a great, dark shadow covered the sun above them, and a loud voice resounded in their minds.

_'…__step asiiiiiiiiiiiiide! ...'_

They barely managed to take cover, when a huge, dark bulk flew above their heads and landed just a few steps further.

'Shruikan!'

'We are doomed …'

The huge bulk of a Dragon folded his wings and stepping with his wide paw carefully, he approached his snout to one of the small, yellow flowers that grew there.

_'__At last__! __A __buttercup __with six petals! A rare rānunculus, for sure!'_

The great dragon stuck his snout there and was left motionless smelling persistently the yellow flower, while his overflowing enthusiasm filled the brothers' minds.

'Beware, Eragon! The Evil one should be somewhere near!' Murtagh unsheathed Zar'roc – again – and this time Eragon imitated his movement. Brisingr at hand, he stood beside his brother.

With the corner of his eye the huge Dragon caught the threatening movement, but he would not be cowed by two puny humans. With utmost care he uprooted the small, yellow flower and placed it gently between two soft scales of his chest. Then, he turned his enormous, house-size head towards the two brothers.

_'__Visitors? I hope you brought me some jelly beans with licorice flavor …'_ The great Dragon sighed and the brothers thought that the earth trembled under their feet. _'One can with difficultly find some licorice around here, lately. The crisis has caused some shortages and ... ' _

'Shruikan! Where is the Evil one?' Murtagh stepped ahead fearlessly, after making sure of his firm grip on his blade.

_'__I remember you__ …__you were always angry with one and all. To answer to your question, my not__-__chosen one is __having fun in the garden. __As a matter of fact, I was going there myself too, but once I saw a six-leaf buttercup, I could not resist the temptation. My not-chosen one …' _

'Garden? Where is this place?'

The Dragon made a grimace that could be described as a 'sly smile'.

_'__Do you find any difficulty orientating yourself? Say _difficulty_!'_

'What?'

_'__Oh__, __come now__ … __You are clever__, __son of Morzan__. __Say _difficulty_ in the right manner and you will be right there.'_ The great Dragon unfolded his wings. _'Now, I must be excused. I will not stay to enjoy your company because I hope I will manage to find a_ _buttercup __with seven petals before I go back to my not-chosen one.' _And speaking thus, he made a huge leap in the air and in a heartbeat he vanished.

'Brother …' Eragon sounded bewildered. 'Say "difficulty"!'

'What? Oh, yeah! "Difficulty" …'

To Eragon's great disappointment, nothing happened.

'Again!'

'Difficulty! … DIFFICULTY! … D. I. F. F. I. C. U. L. T. Y!'

Eragon re-sheathed Brisingr and sat on his heels disappointed.

'Here, we will die of thirst! This black monster …'

'No, wait!' Murtagh's face brightened. He stretched his hand towards Eragon. 'It is magic again! The kind that one learns in their first steps! Have you not been taught by the Elves, brother?'

Eragon caught the stretched hand hesitantly.

'We had a lot of subjects to cover in a very short time …'

'Hush, Eragon!' Murtagh concentrated …

_… __Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs F-F-I_

_Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs L-T-Y …_

… and suddenly, the vast fields vanished and they found themselves looking at the hedge …

_… __Why do you build me up buttercup, baby_

_Just to let me down and mess me around…_

… the chords on the harp sounded loud, along with the not-so-sweet and not-so-melodic voice …

'I know that voice …'

_… __And then worst of all you never call, baby_

_When you say you will but I love you still …_

… following the discordant voice, they had already perceived a flower-decorated, wide-open iron gate, marking the entrance …

'It's _he_!'

Two more single cords echoed and then the voice repeated …

_… __I need you more than anyone, darlin'_

_You know that I have from the start …_

… into the most beautiful garden they had ever seen in their lives. Neither Nasuada's splendid gardens, nor the glorious Elven ones of the Tialdarí Hall reached this beauty.

_… __So build me up buttercup, don't break my heart …_

_… __Ooo-oo-ooo, ooo-oo-o__o__o …_

A few more cords and the song ended the way it had started.

_He_ was sitting among the beds with the blooming roses while the dense climbing vine, twining its stems around the supporting pergola, provided its rich shade above the daybed where _he_ was lying on. A little further, Shruikan had been coiled, holding the six-leaf buttercup between his talons and sniffing at it constantly. In the background there stood the columns of the _façade _of a building built out of the purest white marble.

He placed the harp he was holding on the thick grass and, with an indolent movement, he brought his golden-rimmed _lorgnon_ to his eyes, examining them carefully.

'My, my, my, look who are here!' the King was happily surprised. 'The Great Shadeslayer, Eragon Bromson and the Traitor Murtagh! Welcome Kingkillers!' Murtagh glared at the King, his hand already making the usual threatening movement to reach the hilt of Zar'roc – again – but Eragon prevented his characteristic motion with an averting gesture.

'Why are you looking at me like that, son of Morzan? Perhaps you expected us to shake hands and exchange pleasantries after all this time of not having seen each other. But have you forgotten what you have done to me, boy?' The King lowered his golden-rimmed _lorgnon_ and fixed his dark gaze onto the older brother. 'I've given you everything, o son of my best friend, and what have I received back as a reward for my tenderness and care?' The King stood and made one single step towards them. 'First, I gave you an order and you fled, fighting along with my enemies; when the Twins helped you to find your way back, you thanked my most loyal servants by permitting your cousin, Roran Stronghammer, to break their heads. Not to mention that you helped your brother escape from Gil'ead and almost destroy a good prison of mine. After you left the Burning Plains, you left Eragon and Saphira behind; and at the very exact moment, you stripped me off of all my words, giving your brother the opportunity to attack me mentally. You double-crossed me, son of Morzan, and I never forget it.'

The King's cold voice prevented Murtagh's attempts to protest and, finally, Galbatorix extended both his arms toward him.

'I have raised you in my arms offering everything to you, having you always in my good graces and how hast thou repaid me for this?'

Not standing this provocation, Murtagh started protesting. His angry voice came out too abruptly, scratching his throat.

'You've done all those things only to take advantage of me and …'

'What did you expect, boy?' the King shrugged. 'This is called politics! But …' he stopped Murtagh's argument by taking a formal, polite posture 'where are my good manners? Since you are visitors here, be my guests!' He made a courtesy gesture to them, pointing soon after to the interior of the garden.

'What is this place?' Eragon's curiosity had risen since earlier and now he was ready to respond with a barrage of questions.

The King approached Shruikan and scratched the soft scales under his neck softly, causing a nervous flicking of the ear and then a humming from the enormous Dragon.

'Oh! This is a place I have created using my magic for ages … just in case. One never knows where they end … and if I counted on the Writer … then, I would be lost for sure.' He gestured around proudly. 'Here Shruikan and I have whatever we want, and sometimes good company.'

'Are there any others around here?' The stunning surplus of Eragon's curiosity caused a throaty growl from Murtagh's side.

'But, of course! I always dreamed of making Alagaësia a heaven of artists, scientists, bards, philosophers and great warriors. But I found great counteraction to this effort of mine.' The King threw a venomous glare towards Murtagh. 'But, as you will see, only the _élite _is here.' With a grandiose gesture, he invited both brothers to walk with him. 'Be my guests!' he repeated.

They walked under the shadowy paths of the beautiful garden that had nothing to be jealous of King Louis' Versailles. Fountains with unique statues from which sprang water jets, rare flowers and trees, as well as the most melodious birds Eragon had ever heard, filled their ears with delightful melodies. The stone benches and the kiosks expected the visitor to rest under the dense shadows of climbing plants and a multitude of fruit trees offered their juicy, delicious fruits.

Eragon licked his lips as he spotted a mature apple tree with red, fresh and flavourful, ripe fruits. The King, walking by his side, spoke like he had read his thought.

'Here, whatever one wants, they have just to stretch their hand and take it.'

Just under the branches of the tree, seated and leaning by the trunk, was a crooked-nosed, slim man observing the biggest apple that hung over him. At that exact moment, the apple chose to fall on its observer's head.

'Gravity!' the man cried and jumped up running fast towards the open fields. 'It is called gravity!'

Eragon glanced at Murtagh and noticed his brother's tight grip on the hilt of Zar'roc; the man never relaxed. They were already approaching the marble-built building and the sun remained stubbornly at the same position in the sky when Eragon remembered to ask.

'Why does the sun always stay at the same spot in the sky?'

'For thy question, you had better ask the man sitting there,' the King said pointing at a venerable, old man who leaned on a marble bench pensively, holding a piece of smoked glass in his one hand and a rolled parchment in the other. 'For some time, he is trying to find the answer.'

Eragon approached him in a hurry, but the elder prevented any question with a forbidding gesture.

'And yet it moves!' he declared pompously.

Eragon was left astounded. For so many hours they had observed the sun, but it had remained absolutely unmoving. A kind of an insidious magic was cooking up here, for sure. He glanced at Murtagh again; he just shrugged, professing ignorance. Then, he turned again to the King who once again brought his _lorgnon_ to his eyes and observed him with an ironic smile blooming on his lips.

'Can you use magic?' Eragon asked him.

'Of course I can use magic, boy! What kind of ideal place would this be if the King was unable to use magic? Indeed, here I can use magic that once had been impossible for me to achieve.'

Eragon stared at the King with wide open eyes.

'Impossible to achieve? What do you mean?' The vast knowledge he had acquired about magic spoke about an energy equal to what was needed if the work was to be done by their hands, anyway. The greatest danger for a magician was to lose their life on their attempt to achieve their goal if the needed energy for the task was more than the energy they could afford.

As if the King could read his thought again, a cunning smile bloomed on his lips when …

... behind a thick bush, there appeared an old man holding an ivory smoking pipe with an empty bowl, like the one Brom used to smoke his tobacco.

'Here is a very important man who helped me determine in advance exactly how much energy is needed for every magical task,' the King said full of courtesy, 'so as not to be engaged with something more than my strength ever; and thus put my being into danger.'

'This sounds very interesting' Eragon admired. He had never forgotten his first, painful efforts to transform sand into water – a thing that had almost overwhelmed him – and turned towards the stranger with eyes filled with curiosity. He was an old man of average height, with white, tangled hair and a mustache who bit constantly on his empty pipe, hanging from his lips. Looking at him in the eye, he offered his hand, and engaged in a friendly, firm handshake.

Murtagh merely grunted unhappily, tightening his hold on the hilt of Zar'roc. Everything coming from the King and his crew was distasteful to him and almost hostile.

'The energy conversion equals the mass of the object multiplied by the square of the speed of light,' the old man simply stated.

Eragon, puzzled, threw a furtive glance at his brother. Murtagh had studied many subjects in his life and perhaps he had understood something. But the older shrugged again indifferently.

'I do not recall having ever heard anything relevant to the matter. I know nothing of it.'

The old man nodded and patted him at the shoulder.

'It doesn't matter, my young man, the only thing you absolutely have to know is the location of the library.' And speaking thus, he continued his peaceful walk in the garden.

'See you later, Al' the King greeted him and led the brothers towards the marble-built building ahead.

'What is this building?' Captured by his curiosity again, Eragon asked.

The King started ascending the stairs, reaching the carved columns.

'Oh, here is a place where I believe you will be very glad to meet a certain someone.'

Galbatorix smiled an enigmatic smile and with one and unique gesture he caused the wide, double doors to open. A dimly lit, long, wide corridor unfolded before them and to their left and right they could discern heavy, closed, cedar doors.

'What …'

'Ah, ah, ah! No more questions, please.' The King stopped Eragon. 'Here you are the guests in my Kingdom, never forget it. The prying eyes are forbidden. You will see only what your host will allow to see.' And with a dark smile, he led them towards a specific closed door. 'Please!'

Without waiting to be told another time, Eragon opened and entered.

They entered a spacious, richly furnished room, with expensive tapestries adorning the walls, soft sofas with cushions embroidered with gold, silver chandeliers here and there and a fire blazing merrily in the fireside. Two comfortable, leather chairs were placed at the opposite sides of a small, round table in front of the fireplace; and on the table there was placed a chess board with an already started game of chess.

Murtagh came closer and examined the game scratching his chin thoughtfully.

'Who has the black _pions_?'

'I of course! Since I am the guest here.'

The voice behind him sounded strong, warm and at the same time full of power. Murtagh supported his weight by putting both his palms from the table. Once, he had been recognized as the son of Morzan by the owner of this deep voice. Once, he had fought by his side … he had seen him fall … just before …

'Ajihad!'

It was Eragon the one who voiced Murtagh's thought. 'You, here?'

The former leader of the Varden approached with a regal posture. A heavy velvet cape dressed his broad shoulders and the dark, bare skin of his head glistened in the firelight, while his rich beard seemed even richer.

'My dear, Evil King!' Ajihad addressed the King in a courtly manner.

'How do you fare, my dear Enemy?' The King welcomed his old opponent with an elegant gesture.

'I am quite well, my dear Evil King, thank you.' Ajihad answered him cordially. Then, he turned to the two young men. 'Shadeslayer and son of Morzan, pleased to meet you,' he nodded, greeting the Dragon Riders.

'Ajihad! How did you get here, too? Is this the place where you live? Are there other dead in this place? Is here the land of the dead warriors? How …' The barrage of questions escaped spontaneously from Eragon's mouth and he would have continued asking further, if Galbatorix had not cut him short.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk! Too many questions! At least, I was saved from this, as I was not your teacher and mentor. One question, please, and only one answer!'

'No, my residence is in another area of this place' Ajihad said pompously, as he took his place in one of the leather-bound armchairs facing the small table with the chessboard on it. 'But I visit my dear Evil King quite often because we play chess together.'

'Of course' Galbatorix stated proudly, occupying the other seat. 'And, I dare say that never in my long life, so far, have I met a better opponent.'

'Che … chess?' Eragon swallowed hard. His gaze fell on Murtagh who scrutinized the King with a dark glare. The son of Morzan had managed to maintain his temper so far – as he had long practiced facing oddities – unlike his younger brother, who seemed distracted.

'Oh, my dear Evil King!' Ajihad felt obliged to return the compliment. He turned towards the two brothers and stated in a lofty style. 'He is a formidable opponent, too, but he is a sore loser.'

Slightly dissatisfied with this last comment, the king motioned to the chessboard.

'It's been a long time since you visited me and our "_ajournement_" game has been left unfinished. I've already made my move, and I expect yours.'

Murtagh leaned over the table, examining the chessboard again.

'The Black Knight takes the White Queen,' he stated after a little thought. 'The Whites will lose.'

The King glared at him.

'No one asked your opinion, son of Morzan. Restrict yourself to the neutral attitude which – very wisely – you have kept so far. My dear Enemy here, barely stands your presence since he is very well aware of your sneaking around his honourable daughter, during the time she spent as my guest in Urû'baen.

Murtagh drew himself to his full height. He was insulted, but simultaneously, he threw a sideways glance full of concern at Ajihad.

'Hmm,' Ajihad grumbled. 'Indeed, my young man, if I knew what you would do to my daughter later, I would have cut your hands, before I locked you in your cell, under Farthen Dûr. As for her, I would have cut her legs, before she came to visit you there.'

'Oh, let them have some fun, they are just young …' the King continued undaunted with a venomous tone. This son of Morzan could be intolerable, sometimes. Listen to that! … the Whites will lose!

'I wasn't sneaking around her!' Murtagh protested annoyed.

'Oh, yeah?' The King was not one to let go easily. 'And what did you do in the evenings, when you visited her cell?'

'Did he use to go to her cell in the evenings?' Ajihad stood and made a threatening move towards the young Dragon Rider. 'All I meant was his role in her kidnapping!'

Making Murtagh lose his temper, the King continued to revel about the difficult position to which he had brought him.

'What? Did you think I didn't know, son of Morzan? I just permitted you to enjoy yourself a little.'

Murtagh stamped his foot on the ground.

'I haven't touched her!'

'Oh, well!' The King made a dismissive gesture, cynically bored.

For some time now, Eragon had swallowed his endless questions and looked at Murtagh with eyes full of suspicion. Years ago, the evening he had visited him in his cell in Farthen Dûr, and Murtagh had talked about Nasuada's acquaintance full of enthusiasm, praising her unique graces, he had suspected him too. And now, his former suspicions had been proven to be true.

'I haven't tou …' Murtagh proceeded with his protesting and then he remembered that he was speaking in the ancient language. He couldn't lie! 'Oh well, just a bit,' he said. 'But I've touched her just to heal her.'

'Heal her! From what?' Ajihad looked angrily from him to the King. 'My dear Evil King, I have the feeling that you haven't revealed all the truth to me!'

'Please, my dear Enemy,' the King's voice never contained more sweetness and courtesy. 'Let us forget about these brats and concentrate on our game, at last.' And pointing to the leather-covered armchair, he encouraged his opponent to sit again.

Ajihad focused on the chessboard in front of him, scratched his shaved head for a long time pensively, and finally, moved a pawn decisively.

_'__En Prise__!' _

_'__J__'__adoube__ …'_

Some minutes passed …

_'Dame!' _

_'Τ__emps …' _

More minutes passed … as well as some more movements.

_'Roi!'_

Murtagh approached Eragon carefully and nudged him gently. The younger brother had already got stuck on the game for good.

'Mmm?'

'Time to go, brother.'

'But …'

Murtagh grabbed his sleeve and dragged him decisively outside the room. His long stay in Galbatorix's court, had made him communicant of the King's losing many a chess game. He still remembered specific games which had finished against the King … as well as the repercussions this fact had on the courtiers, generals and himself.

At a fast pace he proceeded down the long corridor, descended the marble stairs and made for one of the fountains in the garden.

'Stop pulling me along! I cannot understand why we have left so hurriedly and ... '

'You will understand in a while, when the King loses the game.' He was sure that Ajihad was more than capable of settling the case. After all, he had died long ago, but these two …

Murtagh sat on the wet edge of the fountain basin, stirring the water with his hand.

'Look!'

Eragon leaned over his shoulder and saw Arya's face looking at him with concern, from the other side of the liquid. Behind her he could see flashes of blue, green and red.

_… the Dragons …_

He shoved his hand into the water trying to catch the vision, but the only thing he managed was to spoil the transparency of the image.

'How will we go back?'

'Very simply, the same way we came.'

'Yes … but …'

_… Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,_

_Catch a tiger by the toe._

_If he hollers, let him go,_

_Eeny, meeny, miny, moe …_

Murtagh stirred the foaming fountain waters once again, speaking the magical words, and suddenly Arya's palm – the one with the gedwëy ignasia – emerged to the surface.

'Ready?' Murtagh grabbed the offered palm with one of his hands and with the other he held Eragon firmly.

… … … … …

_'__My dea__r __Evil King__, courtesy __demands an__ "_ _abandonner" __from your part.__'_

_'…__temps__ …'_

_'… __hmm__? …'_

_'… …__ …__'_

**_'…_****_échec et mat_****_! ...'_**

**_'… _****_Shruikan_****_! …'_**

… … … … …

Both of them stood in Iliria's Dragon-hold, in front of the basin with the dark liquid, quite healthy, but soaked to the bone.

'Brother! You know what?' Eragon said with a hint of panic in his voice. 'We forgot to ask _him _about the hatchlings!'

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter is going to be the last one. That's why I will not reveal anything else now. :D

Thanks for reading.


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